The Aftermath
by proudveggie
Summary: Just as Molly is starting to move on from 'Jim for IT', an unexpected visitor arrives at her door... Please please please leave reviews if you like it, or to let me know how to improve!
1. Chapter 1

My first attempt at a _Sherlock_ fan-fic, so I'm not quite sure if I've got the voices quite right. This was just a pairing I really wanted to explore a little further. Please let me know what you think and give me any constructive criticism you feel would help me make this better!

* * *

Molly Hooper was not the kind of girl who went out with criminal masterminds. She was the kind of girl whose books and DVDs were organised to alphabetical order but could never find her keys. She was the kind of girl who would eat a whole tub of ice cream in front of the TV one night and compensate the next day by eating only celery. She was the kind of girl who could develop a crush on any guy who smiled at her on the Tube and spend all day having harmless fantasies about what their life together could be like, but the only man she could really imagine herself with was a rude, condescending detective who had never shown evidence that he had any sexual preferences at all.

Molly got home and dumped her bag on the sofa just inside her front door. She wandered the few steps across her living room to the door of her bedroom and threw her jacket onto her bed. She hadn't had a good day. The first corpse she'd had to examine had born a vague likeness to someone who had subsequently been on her brain all day. Although she was trying desperately to forget him, her mind couldn't help but wander to Jim. He'd been so lovely to her, so sweet…she'd only ended it because Sherlock had told her that he was gay. Turns out he hadn't been gay at all, but he _had_ been one of the most dangerous men in the world. Some would say she'd had a lucky escape. _She_ would even say she'd had a lucky escape, but at times she couldn't help but wonder what might have happened. When would he have told her that he wasn't an IT worker but in fact a consulting criminal? Would he have let her know that he was only with her to get closer to Sherlock? Molly sighed. _I guess I'll never know_, she thought as she stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She undressed and then stood in front of her full length mirror as the shower warmed up – her plumbing was a bit dodgy and she didn't have the spare cash to get it fixed any time soon. She remembered one of the last times she'd seen Jim. It was the day he and Sherlock had met at the hospital. When she texted him asking to come over to her flat that evening, she'd intended to confront him about Sherlock's accusation but she hadn't plucked up the courage. They'd watched TV, they'd eaten a cheap take away, and then she'd timidly suggested they go into the bedroom. They'd kissed all the way from the sofa to the bed, giggling as he accidentally knocked her into the doorframe on the way past. The sex had been fumbling and awkward, and he'd left almost straight after it. It hadn't been mind-blowing and she had a feeling that he'd been holding something back a bit, but she'd had worse. After he'd left, she'd stood in front of this same mirror naked and thought, _Well that's solves that one. Not so gay anymore, is he, Sherlock?_The next day, however, the doubt had crept back into her mind, so she casually brought it up in conversation with Jim…just to be sure. That had been a mistake. He'd been embarrassed and offended, understandably, but as he turned away from Molly telling her not to contact him again, she could've sworn she saw the flicker of a smirk playing around his lips. And the next thing she'd heard of him was that he was blowing people up all over the country. Not ideal.

She stepped into the shower and let the hot water run over her tired body. She was such an idiot. Why couldn't she, for once, have stopped Sherlock from getting inside her head? She knew her relationship, if that's what it could be called, with Jim could never have lasted…but it could have lasted a little longer. Squeezing shampoo into her hands and lathering it through her hair, she began to drift off thinking about what she would do if she saw Jim now. Not Jim from IT. Jim Moriarty. Evil Jim. She wouldn't let him walk all over her, she wouldn't be intimidated, she'd show him exactly what he could have had if he hadn't used her as a pawn in his twisted game. The thought made her tingle with excitement. She knew she'd probably never see him so it wasn't realistic, but whatever. Molly liked to live in a bit of a fantasy world...not exactly surprising considering her days consisting of corpses and dry cereal in front of the telly. She was always a much more confident person in these fantasies; a little taller maybe, with a more glamorous wardrobe and a glance that had the power to seduce any man she chose and wither anyone who tried to belittle her. She smiled as she rinsed the bubbles from her hair. In her flat, on her own, she could live inside her head. Even on quiet days at the morgue she felt herself becoming Dream Molly. As soon as someone else was around however, she reverted to her usual self.

Stepping from the shower and wrapping herself in a towel, she started to think about what she was going to have for dinner. There was some leftover lasagne her mum had forced on her when she'd gone to her parents' the night before. That would do. She had no energy to cook anything and no money to buy anything. She was still musing on this as she walked from the bathroom into her bedroom…where she stopped dead. Standing at the foot of her bed, hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face, stood Jim Moriarty. Her immediate reaction was to emit a little shriek and clap a hand over her mouth. The smirk on his face widened into a little smile. He was dressed in a sharp grey suit with a white shirt and black tie. The only splash of colour was a tie pin with a blood red jewel. "Surprise!" His eyes widened with mock excitement. Molly didn't know what to do. She was very conscious of her nakedness and the potential danger she was in.

"Wh…what are you doing here? How did you get in?" She had meant her voice to be confident and feisty. It came out little more than a terrified whisper. Jim pulled a face of mock confusion and cupped a hand behind his ear. "What was that? You're going to need speak up darling."  
"Why are you here?" Molly said with a little more conviction. She felt a sudden need to turn around and lock herself in the bathroom or dash out of the flat in search of help, but she knew this would make the situation infinitely worse. Also, she wasn't sure that her legs would actually carry her anywhere…she felt rooted to the ground, with her eyes fixed on Jim. It was almost as though he had a cast a spell on her. For the briefest of seconds, she actually entertained that possibility before discarding it. _Don't be stupid, Molly. He's not magic, he's just a very dangerous man. Just do what he tells you and maybe he'll leave you alone._But at the same time, the little thrill of excitement, the adrenaline coursing through her body…these things were undeniable.

"Why am I here? I'm here because I missed you of course. How could I stay away from you?" he almost purred. His voice both sent a shiver of nausea through her body and a tingle of what she hated to say was arousal up her spine. He took a step towards her, his expensive shoes looking impossibly shiny against her threadbare carpet. She flinched. "Oh come on, you're not scared of me, are you? Little old me?" He walked slowly up to her – prowling, like a lion stalking its prey, she noticed – stopping just behind her and murmured in her ear, "You weren't scared of Jim from IT, were you? Oh no, you were very keen on him. Or was that just keen to prove to yourself that he wasn't gay? That was a particularly nice touch, if I do say so myself. But I promise you, I am the furthest thing from gay you can possibly…imagine…" He breathed the last two words in her ear, causing an involuntary shudder to pass through her body. Her eyelids had closed without her noticing and her head was tilted slightly back. She shook herself. She should not under any circumstances be enjoying this. A good eighty percent of her was the most terrified she'd ever been, while the rest of her…  
Jim chuckled. "Oh, little Molly Hooper…Sherlock Holmes' loyal pet. Are your loyalties beginning to sway?"

"Ex-…excuse me?" she stammered, willing herself not to give anything away or to start crying; two very real possibilities. "Jim, please…I'll…please…" He laughed again and walked around her until he was standing once again at the foot of the bed. His eyes flicked down to her bare feet with the chipped pink nail polish and travelled slowly, languorously, up her pale shaking legs, taking in the towel and the white-knuckled hands clutching it in place. She tried to maintain eye contact with him but found herself trembling. What was he going to do to her?  
"You'll what, Molly? You'll do anything? _Anything_, to keep your precious Sherlock safe? Do you really think that that will make him notice you? He hasn't noticed you yet, has he? All the special privileges with the morgue equipment, the cups of coffee, the new dresses…why not take an interest in someone who can really…appreciate you?" He lowered himself onto the bed, hitching up the legs of his trousers as he did so. He ran a hand over the pink flowered duvet cover and smiled. "I remember this bed…we had fun, didn't we?"  
Molly was speechless. She could feel tears welling up behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She refused to let him see how close to the nerve his comments had hit her.  
"Well, _I _certainly had fun at any rate. You were so eager to please, bless you. So desperate to prove the great Sherlock Holmes wrong…to prove your own suspicions wrong." He cocked his head to one side and looked up at her, his stare piercing straight into her eyes. Without shifting his gaze or even blinking, he patted the space on the bed next to him. Molly didn't move. She didn't dare, not even a muscle's twitch. The thing that scared her even more than this situation she'd found herself in was the fact that she actually _wanted_to go and take a seat next to him. She wanted to do a whole lot more than just that. Although her mind was screaming, shrieking at her not to…something was drawing her in. So she stayed rooted to the floor, determined not to give in. "Come on…" His voice sounded like he was beckoning a frightened animal. "I'm not going to hurt you...yet." Molly gulped, her eyes fixed on his hand which was still resting in the spot he wanted her to sit. "I haven't got all day…Daddy's getting impatient. Be a good girl and come here…" His coaxing tone was soft, lilting…terrifying. Still she didn't move.

Suddenly he sprang across the room, hand around her throat, pinning her to the wall. His face was millimetres from her own, his eyes wild and his nostrils flaring. "I don't like to be kept waiting" he hissed violently, punctuating each word by flexing his fingers around her neck. Molly gasped and spluttered, trying to speak with what little breath she could muster. "I…I'm…please…I'll….anything…"  
He held her there a little longer, glaring into her eyes, almost daring her to break his gaze. Eventually, he let go and turned his back on her, sauntering back to the bed as she collapsed to the floor, her legs unable to hold her up any longer. As she sat crumpled, trying to get her breath back, he turned and looked down at her reproachfully like a disappointed teacher.

"Now, now, Miss Hooper…there really is no need for all this. You need to learn and you need to learn quickly: your life will be much easier and much longer if you just do exactly what I say and when I say for you to do it…is that clear?"  
She nodded shakily. Despite her quivering muscles, her rapid uneven breathing and her inability to utter any kind of sound…something about him sauntering back over to her bed and lounging on it was affecting her in a way she sort of wished it wasn't. Something inside her was awakening, something she'd never known was there. The danger she was in was beginning to scare her less and less…and excite her more. She focussed on this. _Dream Molly wouldn't be huddled on the floor like a terrified animal. Dream Molly would use this situation to her advantage._ Jim was watching her, smirking. It was a gargantuan effort for her to move, but she struggled to her feet, determined that her legs wouldn't fail her now. She moved slowly, tentatively across the room until she was standing directly in front of Jim, her towel held a little looser now. Inside, she was screaming in fear but outwardly she murmured, "What do you want me to do?" as seductively as she could. His eyes flicked up and down her half-dressed body and one eyebrow raised ominously…


	2. Chapter 2

As with the last chapter, I'd appreciate any feedback or constructive criticism that you can provide. I love this pairing and wanted to explore this storyline, but as we see so little of Molly in the show, it's more difficult to find an appropriate voice for her. So please R&R, and enjoy!

* * *

As Molly stood over him, her towel slipping a little looser again, Jim struggled to maintain his cool, controlled exterior. Much as he hated to admit it, he'd spent weeks thinking about this. He'd planned it down to the last detail, but he'd never imagined her being quite so…willing. He'd expected a lot of crying and begging, which of course he would have enjoyed. But he had to respect Molly for stepping up to the plate; he hadn't been prepared for this sudden burst of confidence from her. It almost felt as though _she_ were in control with the way she was looking down at him, teasing slightly by loosening her grip on the towel a fraction more. This was going to be very interesting indeed…

"What do I want you to do? Well I think first of all…that towel needs to go…" he purred, raising a hand to grasp the hem of the material brushing her thighs. Her free hand slapped his away. He smiled, almost proudly. So she was going to play hard to get? _Well, we'll see about that…_

In one fluid, instantaneous movement, he grabbed Molly by her shoulders and pinned her to the bed, her arms above her head and the weight of his body on top of her. The shock had winded her slightly, her breath a little ragged as she struggled against his grasp. He held her wrists tightly, tightly enough to make her gasp a little as he dug his nails into her smooth pale skin. Her towel has fallen open and he surveyed her naked body, her chest rising and falling heavily. His gaze was hungry, but he tried not to show how much he was going to enjoy this. Since that night when she'd tried to prove to herself that he wasn't gay, he hadn't been able to get her out of his head. He'd really had to control himself that night and it hadn't been easy. Jim from IT was not the same as Jim Moriarty. Jim from IT would have turned bright red and gone all hot under the collar if he'd have known the things Moriarty wanted to do to Molly. And now he had the chance…no need to hold anything back, he could completely have his way with her. And she seemed to be almost inviting it. There was no mistaking the way she was still panting despite the fact that she was clearly over the initial shock, or the way she was attempting to press her body as close to his as she could. Even the gasp she'd uttered hadn't seemed to be one of pain so much as surprise at the pleasure she was feeling. Maybe little Molly Hooper, little innocent morgue girl, liked it a bit rough…who knew? He smirked as a thought crossed his mind: _Sherlock certainly doesn't know_. What would the great consulting detective do if he could see his devoted puppy now? How would he react to the mischievous glint playing around Molly's eyes as she let out a soft moan of arousal? That moan…it sent a shiver down his spine. But no, he needed to stay calm. Collected, contained. He'd never achieve anything if he let his urges overtake him now…although it was getting damn near impossible to disguise his true feelings. He leant his face close to hers, lips millimetres from her mouth…their breath intermingled and he could feel her straining to close the gap between them. And then, just as suddenly as he'd captured her, he let her go. Getting to his feet and smoothing the lapels of his suit, he turned his back and pulled out his mobile phone. Molly sat up, stunned and pulling the towel around her.

"Get dressed. We're going for dinner." He attempted to sound as detached as possible, barely disguising a little shake in his voice.

"Dinner?" She sounded incredulous. Seconds before, she'd thought she was about to get exactly what she wanted…a chance to prove herself to him. Little did she know, she already had. Jim desperately didn't want to let on how close he'd come to weakness, to vulnerability. _She is not in control of this, _you_ are…so restrain yourself. It'll be worth the wait._ That was what he kept repeating in his head. What he'd been thinking to himself for weeks in order to make this night exactly what he needed it to be. _It'll be worth the wait._

Forty five minutes later, they were sitting at the best table of the best restaurant within a ten mile radius. Molly was wearing the black dress she'd worn to the Christmas party at 221B Baker Street, the one which had had such a…startling effect on DI Lestrade (but that's another story for another time). She knew it was the most seductive thing she owned and that was her aim…she was trying not to think about what would happen to her after she'd had her way with Jim. She'd matched her lipstick to the blood red of his tiepin and together they made for quite a striking couple. The waiter who had taken their drinks order had poured water all over the floor, staring as he was down the neckline of her dress. Molly did start to worry a little when Jim disappeared to the toilet for ten minutes directly afterwards, and that particular waiter had not been seen since. But she tried to put this out of her mind and enjoy the meal. Although she would much rather have stayed in with Jim, it was exciting to be out with the world's only consulting criminal. _Nearly as good, _she thought, _as being with the world's only consulting detective would be. _ But this was really happening as opposed to all the fantasy dates she'd been on with Sherlock, and even John in her more desperate moments. She had come to the conclusion a while back that she would happily have used John as a means of getting closer to Sherlock. Much in the way, she realised, Jim had used her. Maybe they had more in common than either of them thought.

"How's your wine?" Jim asked, smiling wolfishly over the rim of his glass. He tilted a stream of the deep red liquid between his lips and she watched his throat as he swallowed. It was all she could do to not leap across the table and run her teeth along the curve of his neck, move her lips down his shoulder…what was it he'd said?

"Exquisite, thank you…how much did it cost?" She took a sip. It really was the nicest wine she'd even had. She normally settled for whatever was on the best offer at the all-night supermarket down the road from her flat. And the food was incredibly impressive; miniscule designer portions but such intense flavours that you wouldn't want much more anyway.

"Tut, tut Miss Hooper…let's not discuss money. We're having a nice evening, don't ruin it with talk of things out of your league." He drained his wineglass and leaned back in his chair. "Let's talk about something…closer to your heart. How's Sherlock doing these days?"

Molly choked on her mouthful of wine, spluttering it back into the glass. The tables around them turned to look disapprovingly and Jim raised a hand to them in apology.

"Sorry about my friend, she's just a little…overwhelmed". He smiled charismatically and ingratiatingly, and the couples around them turned back to their food. Then he leaned over the table towards her and spoke in an almost inaudible purring tone.

"I have a little…proposition for you. How about you finish the last of that wine, we skip the coffee and head back to your flat…do you like the sound of that? And we'll discuss your friend more when we get there. I have something I want to ask you." Molly nodded dumbfounded and sipped the end of her drink. Without signalling a waiter to get the bill or even acknowledging any of the staff, Jim rose to his feet, helped her on with her coat and led her by the hand from the restaurant.

"Do we not need to…pay or anything?" Molly asked, twisted back to look behind them as he kept a tight grip on her hand.

"Don't worry sweetheart, Daddy's taken care of everything."

"But surely we should leave a tip …?" Molly couldn't quite hide her discomfort at leaving a restaurant without paying.

"I don't tip. Now will you stop worrying? This night is far from over and I need…your. Full. Attention." Rather than stopping to hail a cab, Jim pulled Molly down the alley next to the restaurant and pushed her against the stone wall. Each of his last words was punctuated by a gentle nip on her earlobe from his sharp teeth. Molly felt herself going weak at the knees as his breath tickled her ear. "Do you understand?" he murmured. She seemed totally incapable of doing anything other than focussing on not collapsing onto the pavement. "Do. You. Understand?" His tone was fiercer, more of a growl, and he pressed his body against hers, forcing her harder against the wall.. She nodded hurriedly. She couldn't remember what she was understanding but she'd do whatever it took to keep his hands where they were, one on her waist and one holding her hair away from her ear so he was able to get maximum effect by speaking into it. She could feel the cold air of the London night vaguely, but the warmth of his body standing so close to hers made her forget it. But suddenly she was hit by the cold again. A sleek black car with tinted windows had just pulled up, not outside the restaurant but at the mouth of the alleyway. A handsome man in a suit stood holding the door open and Jim was standing very close to him, the two of them muttering together. She hadn't realised until he'd gone as she'd had her eyes closed in ecstasy.

"Molly, I won't ask again. Get in the car." He clicked his fingers at her as if summoning a dog and his tone was harsh. She didn't need telling twice. As Jim slid in after her, the door closed and the man walked around the car and into the driver's seat. "Thank you Sebastian. Back to the Hooper residence, if you don't mind."


	3. Chapter 3

As the car joined the stream of late night traffic heading through London and the lights of the city began passing by, Jim was concentrating very hard on ignoring the woman next to him in the backseat. He stared intently out of the window, hoping he looked distracted and not desperate, which was how he felt. He'd nearly lost control of himself again in that alley…it would have been so easy and she wasn't putting up any fight…but no. He had a job to do, and he couldn't let something as trivial as Molly Hooper get in the way of that. But when he could feel her presence so close to him, when he knew how ravishing she looked underneath her dowdy grey overcoat…she was beginning to feel less trivial. It was a struggle. He needed to think about the task at hand. _Focus on Sherlock_, he thought. _Don't get distracted by his lapdog._ But he couldn't quite think of Molly as merely Holmes' pet any more. She'd shown a totally new side of herself tonight…and he liked it even more than he'd liked the other her. Out of the corner of his eye, he snuck a glance at her. She was resting her chin in her hand and gazing out of the window. She was clearly miles away, in her own little world. Her face seemed soft, her eyes glazed over. Not sexually predatory like she had been earlier, not scared and trembling like when she'd first seen him…she was perfectly calm. One curling tendril had fallen from the clip holding back her hair, and it was an effort for him to not reach over and stroke it behind her ear. She looked absolutely beautiful. _What is wrong with you? _Jim scalded himself. _This is not a Sandra Bullock movie. You're not going to sweep her off her feet and take her away from the morgue to a better life. She's not going to save you from the life choices you've made. Stick to the plan._

Just as he resolved to put this stupidity behind him, which he had resolved many times over the course of their meal, she turned to glance at him and caught his eye. She gave him a nervous smile and he looked away hurriedly. Damn it! Every time, every _single_ time he tried to steel his mind against her, she did something like that. Smiling at him like a coy schoolgirl. She probably didn't even realise she was doing it, but something in that smile was incredibly suggestive. Half of him burned with anger at himself that he could be so weak in the face of such an ordinary woman…and half of him burned with a passion that was eating away at him. For weeks, she'd been all he could think about. And he hated himself for it. Even Sebastian had commented that he'd been distracted recently. What was happening to him? He had so many more important things to concentrate on; people to blackmail, bombs to activate, international corporations and political parties to topple. But his mind, previously so sharp and superior, kept wandering. He was turning into one of…them, he thought with a shudder. Sherlock had said that he'd been reliably informed that he was devoid of a heart…well, Jim had known that wasn't true. But he'd always been pretty convinced that it was completely true of him. He'd never even come close to feeling love or affection for anything or anyone. Lust? Definitely. Both sexual and an overwhelming desire for power. That was his soulmate: power. The power to control, to manipulate, to destroy. So why, why, _why_ had Molly Hooper managed to infiltrate his mind so completely? The only human he had any kind of soft spot for was Sebastian, and that was still due to the power he could exert over the weaker man. He had Sherlock to thank for that one; it was quite nice having a companion…a live-in human pet. But still, it had never been and never would be a relationship of equals. Jim _owned_ Sebastian. He thought he would have been able to own Molly, had he wanted to. But he wasn't so convinced any more. And that scared him. The Molly who he'd been preoccupied with had been timid, eager to please. That had been stupid enough…what was it about her that had made her so intriguing? He realised now that he'd seen something in her, something no one else had ever seen, something Sherlock had certainly missed…the potential she had to be something more than Little Morgue Girl. And there was something about this confident Molly that he liked even more. That's the problem with an obsession with power…being in control is never enough. A challenge is much more satisfying. And new Molly was certainly…challenging. Even though he could tell she wanted him as much as he wanted her, she clearly had no intention of showing her hand. He only knew because he felt exactly the same way. It was a battle of wills; who was going to crack first? Who was going to expose themselves? Emotionally, not physically – she'd already beaten him to that one. He smiled slyly thinking about her sprawled on that bed, struggling against his grip. As long as he maintained that upper hand, this would be very enjoyable indeed…

_No! Forget the girl, she's just a pawn…you need her but only as a stepping stone to Sherlock. Do _not_ forget the plan!_

This was going to be more difficult than he'd anticipated.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for delay, in the midst of exam season right now so this story has been put on the back burner for a bit. I'm hoping to get back into the swing of it soon, once my life isn't over-run by Jacobean plays and modern comic novels. I'm trying to get my chapter length up a bit, but as I say, I've been otherwise occupied. Not my finest, I don't think, but hopefully a consolation prize enough to keep you wanting more. As always, R&R - constructive criticism always welcomed!

* * *

As the car pulled up to the kerb outside Molly's block of flats, she tried desperately to steady her breathing. She was a strange mixture of excited and terrified. In the restaurant, the alleyway, even this car heading back to her flat, it was like she was in a dream. Nothing seemed tangible, everything was a little bit surreal and she had convinced herself that she wasn't in any real danger. It was easy to play the role of Dream Molly when it felt like she was in an alternative universe. But her façade was slipping now that they were about to be alone again. It was as if she felt safe in public because yes, Jim Moriarty is an evil criminal mastermind…but what could he really do to her in central London with witnesses all around? Maybe she was being naïve. But now that the prospect of being in her flat, just the two of them, was upon her again, the part of her brain telling her to run as far and as fast as she could was resurfacing. _This is not a game. This is not a harmless fantasy you can wake up from. He is a very dangerous man and won't think twice about anything he does to you. Once he gets what he wants, he'll dispose of you like he disposed of that old woman and her whole block of flats. He has no boundaries, no morals…_

She took a deep breath and stepped out of the door which had been opened for her by Jim's driver. She hurried ahead to unlock the door to the block of flats, not wanting him to see how her hands were shaking. She turned back to see Jim shaking the driver's hand and then giving him a playful pat on the bum as he climbed back into the driver's seat. Then Jim spun around to face her, grinning wolfishly at her. He strode through the front door and pressed the button to the lift which would take them to Molly's fourth floor flat. Desperately attempting to pull herself together, Molly followed him into the lift. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stare straight ahead and stand perfectly still. She didn't want to give anything away. Her breathing was shallow but regular, she wouldn't let it falter. The reality of the situation was sinking in and the excitement was beginning to dissipate somewhat. _What does he want with me? What can _I_ possibly do for _him_?_

The lift doors opened at the fourth floor and Molly crossed the corridor to unlock her door. She tried hard to concentrate on finding the right key and hiding the tremors in her hands to distract herself from the heat of Jim's body standing close behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as he rested one hand on her hip and with the other, reached around her and took the bunch of keys from her.

"Allow me…" he murmured in her ear. Molly thought she was going to have an asthma attack but as the door in front of her swung open, she took a deep shuddering breath and tried to resume normality. Walking confidently into the room and sliding her coat from her shoulders, she threw it onto the sofa and turned to face Jim. Although her eyes probably betrayed her panic, the rest of her looked damn good and she knew it.

"Drink?" she asked, crossing to the kitchen and opening the fridge. "I think I have some wine in here somewhere…" Her voice was about an octave higher than usual.

"I'd rather have something a little stronger." Jim hitched up his suit trousers and sat down on Molly's threadbare sofa, resting one ankle on the opposite knee and surveying the room. "Whiskey maybe?"

"I'm pretty sure I can manage that." She poured two tumblers of whiskey, added ice to both and swigged the contents of one in a series of gulps before pouring herself another. She needed a little Dutch courage right now. Placing the two drinks and the whiskey bottle on her cluttered coffee table, on top of a copy of Heat magazine in the absence of any coasters, Molly settled herself at the opposite end of the sofa. She needed to be as far away from Jim as possible, but couldn't let him know how apprehensive she was.

Jim picked up his glass and drained its contents in one before pouring himself another. He turned his body to face her, resting the hand holding his drink on the back of the sofa.

"So…here we are…" he purred. His eyes glinted in a seductive manner and Molly felt that jolt of excitement again.

"Here we are," she replied, turning her body to mirror his position. "You said you had something to…ask me?"

_Oh yes,_ thought Jim as he surveyed the woman sitting expectantly in front of him. _All sorts of things…things that would make you blush just thinking about them…things that you can't even imagine. Oh, Miss Hooper, Daddy has plans for you…_ But outwardly, he sipped his drink and moistened his lips before leaning in and saying, in a tone of voice she'd never heard before, "Molly Hooper, I need your help."

This was not what she'd expected. She'd been thinking he'd start asking probing questions about Sherlock and his plans…but no. Jim Moriarty, _the_ Jim Moriarty, needed _her_ help?

"What could I possibly do for you?" she asked uncertainly and taking a gulp of her drink.

"More than you could ever imagine. But I need to make something very clear before we go any further. I _know_ things," he hissed, his voice that of a snake. She sat stock still, hypnotised by his wide, unblinking eyes. There was so much venom in those eyes, it made her very soul quake. "I can know your every move, your every thought. So if you even so much as _consider _betraying me, if the idea ever flashes through your mind, I will not hesitate for one. Single. Second…" He practically spat the words into her face, trailing off ominously. "Do you understand me?" he growled. Molly nodded, her eyes still fixed on his. Her heart felt as though it were about to stop beating. She'd never been so petrified in her life. She had absolutely no doubt in her mind that this man was entirely capable of everything he threatened. And although Sherlock was good – brilliant, phenomenal even – there was no way he'd be able to protect her. That is, if he even noticed that she was in danger. _Which I doubt_, she thought bitterly.

"I'll do anything". Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but the corner of Jim's mouth rose in a crooked smile at the words.

"That's my girl. I knew you wouldn't let Daddy down."


	5. Chapter 5

I'm not quite sure how I feel about this chapter...it's much less character-driven than the others. Please let me know what you think. I love my reviewers, the feedback is what keeps me going with this storyline. If I know people are enjoying, I'll keep writing!

* * *

The whiskey bottle was empty. One tumbler stood drained on the coffee table surrounded by gossip magazines, the other lay smashed on the living room carpet. There was a scattering of clothes from the sofa to the bedroom, a trail of destruction where he'd slammed her against seemingly every surface along the way. He lay on the bed, the sheet twisted around his legs, fast asleep, suddenly vulnerable. She stood in the doorway to the bathroom, watching him in the pale light of dawn. A deep purple bruise blossomed on her shoulder, another on her left hip. The light creeping through the thin curtains illuminated the angry red scratch marks running the length of his back. Molly Hooper felt like a different woman. That man, the man on the bed currently sleeping on her flowery pink pillow, he had the ability to release a side of her she thought only existed in her imagination. Last night, she had agreed to something she never would have thought of in her wildest dreams...

"It's pretty clear where your alliances lie now." He sat back on the couch, almost too calm now that she'd agreed, nodding hesitantly. "You do realise that if you tell a single living soul about this little…arrangement, both you and they will no longer be quite so…living?" He made the threat so lightly, lounging and inspecting the end of his tie in an uninterested manner, that she'd had to think twice about he'd said.

"Of course. You can trust me." She'd spoken these words with more conviction that she felt. Of course she had no intention of telling anyone, but she still felt a little shaky over this whole situation. If anyone ever found out she'd made a deal with the devil…what would Sherlock say? But to her surprise, the longer she kept her eyes fixed on Jim's, she cared less and less about Sherlock's opinions on anything. He'd never appreciated her and everything she did for him. Maybe it was time he was taught a lesson.

"Good…" Jim drained his final drink and then leaned in towards her, breathing his words into her ear and sending a tingle down her spine. "Now how about we test this newfound loyalty even further?"

Molly didn't want to reveal how desperate she had been for the conversation to take this direction. "In what way do you mean?" She affected a coy expression and innocent tone of voice. Jim's hand, which had been resting on her knee, began to creep at an almost painfully slow pace up her thigh. "Oh, I'm sure we can both think of a few ways…" he purred, pausing at the hem of her dress. Molly's disappointment was clearly visible in her face, although she tried desperately not to show it, and he smirked before his hand began its ascent under the material. Her head fell back, her mouth open a little, as waves of pleasure began to roll through her body. She let out a little whimper and he chuckled.

"There's a good girl…" he murmured. Molly's breathing was gradually getting heavier, her whimpers more frequent. Jim withdrew his hand sharply. Her head snapped up to look at him, her eyes blazing with a passion he'd never seen in them before. He was taken completely by surprise as she suddenly climbed on top of him, her knees on either side of his hips, her tongue exploring his mouth hungrily. The surprise wore off pretty quickly though, and he buried both his hands in her hair, kissing her back just as violently as she was kissing him. He'd tried to maintain his composure, his self-control, to see her as just another business deal. But very few of his business deals kissed like that. _Damn her_, he thought as he grasped her by the thighs and stood up so he was supporting her entire weight. Her glass of whiskey which had been waiting to be drunk on the coffee table fell to the floor and smashed. Neither of them cared. _Damn her to hell for making me want her like this_, he thought as he carried her across to the kitchen countertop and pressed her up against the cupboards. Usually when this happened, it was with someone he had very little interest in. He'd get in, get the job done and be gone within a few hours. But he wanted to _enjoy_ Molly. He'd waited so long for this moment.

She unbuttoned his suit jacket and tossed it to the floor. He immediately broke the kiss and left her sitting on the draining board by the sink as he picked it up and dusted it off, folding it neatly and laying it across the back of the sofa. He caught her eye as she gave him a questioning look. "What? It's Westwood, have some respect". Before she could respond, he was back to her, his hands swiftly unzipping her dress and leaving it sitting next to the breadbin as they moved from the kitchen to the bedroom. He slammed her up against the doorframe and began to move his mouth down her neck, biting down hard on her shoulder and causing her to release a little moan. She remembered last time they'd been in this position – well, not _quite_ this position – and he'd knocked her against the doorframe on their giggling way from the sofa to the bedroom. He'd been so apologetic. No one was giggling now, no one was apologising. And she was glad. Jim from IT had been…nice. That was the only word for him. Jim Moriarty was the furthest thing from nice she'd ever encountered, and she was loving it.

But now, Molly wasn't quite sure what to do. How could this new Molly, Dream Molly as she had formerly been, fit into old Molly's world? New Molly couldn't run around after Sherlock like a lost puppy. And even if he didn't notice the change, which she doubted he would, John would certainly get suspicious. Poor John, who everybody overlooked in favour of Sherlock. Molly had always sympathised with John. He'd always been kind to her. How could she ever face them again, knowing what she knew? She took a deep breath and wandered through to the kitchen to put the kettle on without bothering to get dressed. She picked up her discarded dress and tossed it onto the coffee table. That dress. When she'd bought it, she knew it was a little different from the majority of her largely conservative, modest wardrobe. That Christmas party at Baker Street had been its first outing. Last night had been its second. It certainly had an extraordinary effect on men. Or maybe it just gave her more confidence. She knew she didn't look like Molly when she wore it, not the Molly everyone knew. Greg Lestrade had seen her very differently when she'd first worn it - she smiled at the memory - and well…it had been incredibly successful on Jim. Whose voice she could hear from the bedroom, where she'd left him fast asleep. She went back and stuck her head around the door as the kettle boiled. He was standing in front of the mirror, straightening his tie and tucking his phone into his trouser pocket. He turned around when he saw her reflection in the mirror.

"You got dressed quickly! Coffee? The kettle's nearly ready and…" She trailed off as he walked straight past her without so much as a fleeting look. He made a beeline for his jacket folded on the back of the couch.

"No thanks sweetheart, I've got to dash. My driver will be here in a few minutes, I've got some…business to attend to."

Molly felt deflated. She knew that he wasn't exactly going to fall head over heels for her, that wasn't his style. But he could at least have stuck around for breakfast.

"Last night was fun," she ventured tentatively, not sure how she was supposed to respond. Her nudity, which had previously felt liberating, suddenly made her very conscious of how exposed she was. She must look ridiculous next to the perfectly fitted designer suit.

"Yeah, sure it was," Jim was distracted, reading something on his phone. "Look, I'd best be off. Remember our deal, yes? If you breathe a single word…" Molly nodded emphatically. She wasn't going to make any mistakes, she wouldn't give him any reason to doubt her. But she was hurt. He didn't even care enough to finish that threat.

As he left the flat with barely a backwards glance, closing the door behind him, she cursed herself for thinking this would end any differently than it had. She slipped on her dressing gown and crossed to the window. She watched Jim exchange a few words with his handsome driver and then slide into the backseat of the car. _This might be the last time I ever see him_, she thought. It some ways, she hoped it was. If he came back, it would only be because she had done something wrong. But on the other hand, she hoped he might have made some impression on him after last night.

_Who am I to think I could ever hold onto the most dangerous man in the world? Silly little girl from the morgue…why would he want me?_

In his car, four floors below, Jim looked up at the shape of Molly through the tinted glass of the car's windows as Sebastian pulled away from the kerb.

"How was last night?" he asked Jim, making eye contact in the rear-view mirror. "Did you get what you needed?"

Jim nodded. _And so, so much more_.


	6. Chapter 6

I really don't know how confident I am with Jim's characterisation, so I did this chapter as a way of really getting inside his head. Please review if you liked it or have any improvements I could make.

* * *

Jim Moriarty lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He was stretched out on his black leather sofa, fully dressed in the clothes he had been wearing the night before. He had been in this position for the past two hours, ever since he had arrived at home. He had stirred once to accept a cup of strong black coffee from Sebastian but that was sitting on the coffee table at his elbow, rapidly cooling. Sebastian was busying himself around the place, waiting for his boss to be done with the whole lying and staring thing. Jim wanted to tell him to leave, but in some ways the background noise helped him to think. And he had a lot of thinking to do. He closed his eyes.

_Molly Hooper_.

She had seemed so inconsequential. Nothing more than a pawn in the increasingly elaborate game developing between two of the greatest minds the world had ever known. When he'd first met her, he'd pitied her. Sherlock's little lapdog, never standing up for herself, letting him walk all over her. Absolutely pathetic. He'd known it would be easy to weasel his way into her life. He could practically smell the reek of desperation coming from her. She'd do anything to get Sherlock to notice her, fawning over him regardless of how she was treated. And she was so nauseatingly…human. It disgusted him. It made his skin crawl.

But then, he'd started to get to know her although obviously she wasn't getting to know him. 'Jim from IT' was almost as bad as Molly. It had been…diverting at first, but rapidly the character had started to repulse him. So bland, so boring. Why would any woman want a man like that? Why would any man ever want to talk about his – Jim shuddered at the memory – emotions? But as he got further into her world, there was something about Molly which began to intrigue him. She seemed to be this reserved woman who spent all day quietly working with the dead and mooning after Sherlock Holmes. But there was so much more to her than that. Occasionally he saw a flash of the potential she had; a look in her eye maybe, or a sarcastic comment, totally out of character. Anyone who worked with corpses all day had to have something…different about them. Not many girls could face that for an hour, let alone choose it as a career. So yes. From the start of this round of the game, he'd been interested to say the least. And that had annoyed him no end. Why on Earth would she of all people be the woman to throw him off? He had too much at stake to be getting distracted by anyone. But somehow, Molly Hooper had made her way into his mind. He'd been preoccupied for weeks, thinking about her. Wondering what she was doing, wanting to know more about her. He'd even gone so far as a little light stalking. Nothing serious, just happening to direct Sebastian to areas which he knew she might be frequenting at certain times. Last night's dress, for example, he'd seen before. He'd watched from the window of his parked car as she left 221B Baker Street and climbed into a taxi with DI Lestrade. Something about seeing her leaving with him, knowing what was going to happen, had made him feel…something. Something he did not feel often. Something he could barely put his finger on. Something too human for him to consider.

And then last night he'd seen a whole new side of her. The side he knew was in there somewhere had been unleashed. And it had been breath-taking. Jim's head was reeling a little just thinking about it. She had been captivating. There was something about the confidence she had found, the way she didn't let him maintain the upper hand for long. He wasn't used to being kept on his toes. And she had certainly learned some moves since the last time they'd spent a night together. Unless she'd been holding back that night as much as he had…that was a remarkable thought. Maybe this temptress had been in there all along, just waiting to get free. Maybe she hadn't wanted to scare away timid little Jim from IT with the things she was capable of doing. Because boy, was she capable of doing things. Jim had had his fair share of experiences with some the world's most…talented women _and_ men – he didn't like to discriminate. But last night had been something else. She could give Irene Adler a run for her money. Not that Jim had ever sampled Irene's personal line of work – not really his thing – but he'd heard very positive reviews.

But what to do now? Where did he go from here? In some ways he felt like he'd won. He'd gained her loyalty, recruited her to Team Moriarty, brought her over to the dark side. She'd agreed to help him with something only she could. He'd stolen one of Sherlock's most precious possessions, even if Holmes had never seen its worth. And along with all of that, he'd had an absolutely phenomenal night into the bargain. He should be on top of the world right now. But he couldn't help feeling that something was…missing. It had been so difficult to give her the cold shoulder as he left. It was self-defence. If he'd let his guard slip for even a second, all would be lost. And he couldn't show any weakness now, he just couldn't. His full concentration was crucial at this stage on the plan. But there was part of him, a part which made him cringe, that had wanted to stay and drink coffee with her and eat toast with her and talk with her and maybe go for lunch somewhere…it sickened him. Maybe he should send Sebastian home – was humanity contagious? If he was going to get any work done at all today, he needed to squash these new and frankly disconcerting thoughts. He'd already had Sebastian cancel two meetings so far this morning. He couldn't go on like this or he'd lose his edge. There was business that needed his urgent attention. Molly Hooper would have to wait.

Jim sat up and smoothed the lapels of his jacket. If he concentrated, he could still smell her perfume on his clothes. He sprang from the sofa and removed the jacket.

"Sebastian, this needs washing as soon as possible. Fetch me my blue Valentino. Daddy has work to do."


	7. Chapter 7

I love how this chapter raises the word count of this story above that of the only other fan-fiction I have ever written. That was published on this site a few years ago and in 15 chapters, it wasn't as long as this story is now. That just tickled me. As always, reviews welcomed!

* * *

On the other side of London, Molly Hooper sat on the sofa, toying with a piece of toast. She hadn't been able to eat much since Jim had left. She hadn't been able to _do_ much. The water she'd boiled two hours ago still sat in the kettle. She was still wrapped in her dressing gown, everything still exactly as it had been when he'd left. It was almost as if she felt that starting her day would mean that last night never happened. It was already starting to feel like she had imagined it all…could she have imagined it? No…the aching all over her body and her flat which looked like it had been raided by rapid animals were the only evidence that Jim Moriarty had been there at all. She almost hated herself for letting this affect her so deeply. Dream Molly wouldn't be moping over a piece of toast and mooning over the memories of the previous night. She'd be up and about, dressed to kill, sporting blood red lipstick and heading out to seduce the next man foolish enough to cross her path. But Dream Molly had left along with Jim. It couldn't be certain if she'd ever return. Real Molly cursed herself for being so pathetic. She'd known from the outset that this was never going to be a Hollywood romance. They'd made a business agreement which she was forcing herself not to dwell on, had had one night of insane passion and that was all. This was probably how Jim lived his life all the time, flitting from woman to woman, bed to bed. He probably had a whole string of Mollys, sitting alone and pining after the man who would never care. Well, she wasn't going to be one of those girls. She'd been doing that for long enough, for another brilliant mind. No…Molly Hooper may have sold her soul to the devil, but Dream Molly certainly hadn't. And it was time to show St Bart's exactly what Dream Molly had to offer.

Molly had faltered several times on her journey to work; at her front door, while she was in the lift, on the Tube and bus on the way across London. Every time she'd been tempted to turn around, get back into bed and never leave. She wasn't this person. This girl wearing the figure-hugging black pencil skirt and revealing, low-cut blouse (the only vaguely sexy clothes she owned other than 'that dress'), this girl wearing carefully applied but casually seductive makeup to work, this girl in heels and seamed stockings getting eyed up every step of the way from her flat to the morgue at St Bart's. Every colleague she passed in the impersonal and clinically clean corridors was taken aback. Her heart leapt as she glanced through the window on the door leading into the morgue. Sherlock was inside, accompanied by John, Lestrade, Anderson and Donavon. Molly took a deep breath. She hadn't expected such an audience straight away. She'd hoped to have a couple of quiet hours to herself before she had to see anyone. She was so very tempted to go to the toilets and drab herself down. She must have some flat shoes lying around somewhere, and with her lab coat on they would barely see the clothes…she could just take off the makeup and…no! She had made it this far. She tousled her hair a little, stood straight with her shoulders back and breezed into the room. Five heads turned to see who was walking through the door. Four pairs of eyes widened in surprise as Molly strode confidently to her desk, dropping her bag and pulling her lab coat on, deliberately leaving it open. Sherlock was flicking through images on his phone, frowning to himself as he tried to find the right one. He pursed his lips and Molly's knees felt weak as his cheekbones protruded a little. _Keep it together, Hooper._ Although she tried to seem oblivious to their reactions, Molly's disappointment at Sherlock's indifference was a little overwhelmed by the way the other three men were looking at her. Greg was wearing the expression he had at the Christmas party, John didn't seem aware that his gaze was flicking between her legs and her chest unable to decide where to settle, and Anderson was staring at her like he'd never seen a woman before. Which may well have been the case. Donavon just looked incredulous. Molly gazed around at the gawping faces and smiled as confidently as she could.

"What can I do for you?"

"At last, someone who wants to get some work done! No one else seems to have any sense of urgency, so thank you Molly." She coloured a little at Sherlock's words but she knew she was safe – no one was looking at her face anyway. "Now, could you take a look at these photos and tell me if you've seen anything similar in the past few weeks?" Sherlock lightly tossed her the phone which she deftly caught. The screen showed a male corpse, a man with dark hair who may once have been attractive. Something about him seemed familiar to Molly…but that wasn't she was focusing on. There was heavy bruising around his neck with two very distinct thumb marks. She looked at the photo for what felt like a very long time, flicking between the others in the folder (the same corpse from different angles and different levels of zoom).

"I…I don't see anything too strange. Surely we're looking at simple strangulation?" Despite her costume, Molly wasn't finding it quite so easy to maintain her persona.

"Are all you people blind?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, snatching his phone back. "I'll do it myself, as usual. May I?" Molly sighed and dropped into her desk chair. She was used to Sherlock demanding free reign of her domain and she'd given up arguing despite it being so very against regulations.

By lunchtime, they were all getting restless. Sherlock had ordered Anderson and Donavon to leave, claiming that he couldn't work with their faces distracting him. They hadn't been happy and had made a lot of snide comments as they left, but they had left. Thank God. Molly didn't know how much longer she could have taken Anderson's leering. Sherlock was muttering agitatedly to himself and flicking through file after file, not allowing anyone to speak to him, only interacting to accept cups of coffee and occasionally exclaiming things which they'd all long ago zoned out. For the past hour, Molly had been fashioning a paper clip chain and doodling on Post-it notes which she was using to decorate her computer screen. It was difficult being Dream Molly when she was so bored. She tried desperately to keep her mind from slipping back to last night. She couldn't help but wonder what Jim was up to right now… _Snap out of it!_ She shook herself a little. Greg was taking a call from his wife, possibly ex-wife, outside – Molly wasn't quite sure how their relationship stood at the moment, but she was pretty sure Mrs Lestrade wouldn't like the surreptitious glances he'd been sneaking down her blouse – and John had just returned with yet another coffee run. He attempted to balance the paper tray on a pile of documents on her desk and one cup tipped, spilling a little scalding hot liquid into Molly's lap. She shrieked and leapt to her feet. It didn't hurt too badly and she got over the shock pretty quickly but John jumped into action, attempting to dab at the front of her skirt with the handful of the least absorbent napkins in the world you always get with coffee from a cheap machine.

"I'm so sorry, Molly. So sorry…I'm so bloody clumsy…" John's awkward attempts to dry her skirt were put to a sudden halt by her grabbing his hand.

"If you're going to try and touch me up, at least have the decency to buy me dinner first Watson." Molly held John's gaze brazenly and spoke in a low husky voice. She gave John a little smirk, held his hand a little longer than necessary, and inwardly congratulated herself on being able to come up with a line so quickly. John flushed pink and opened his mouth as if to say something, then decided against. He did this twice more and then left the room without any explanation other than just pointing at the door and then exiting through it. Molly leant back in her chair and smiled. This Dream Molly stuff was more fun than she had expected it to be.


	8. Chapter 8

Jim had had a rough day. His meetings hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped; terrorist cells were getting a lot more difficult to blackmail these days, it wasn't good for business. On top of that, he'd spent all day being distracted, and to add insult to injury, Sebastian had just spilled whiskey all over his Valentino trousers. Jim had flipped. All the day's pent up frustrations had built up inside him and this was the final straw. He'd had Sebastian pinned to the wall by his throat within seconds, thumbs pressed against his windpipe, making him squirm and splutter out apology after apology before he was finally released, dropping to the ground like a crumpled rag doll. Jim brushed his hands off on the lapels of his jacket. He hated having to do things like that – he wasn't a big one for getting his hands dirty.

"Get up. I need you to take this suit to the dry cleaners. NOW!" He stalked into his bedroom to change.

"_Someone's _a little touchy today," Sebastian muttered, picking himself up off the carpet and feeling more than a little shaken. His boss had been in a strange mood recently, which meant that he'd been snapping at insignificant things. But that was the first time in a long time that Sebastian had been so violently thrown at a wall…_Well, not in this context anyway_. He smirked as he straightened his tie and crossed to the bedroom to collect Jim's suit.

"_What_ did you say?" Jim stuck his head around the door. He was in the process of changing, wearing only silk boxers and his shirt and tie. His eyes were blazing with anger, but he didn't feel entirely comfortable accosting Sebastian dressed as he was. He had to maintain some level of dignity. He could already tell that his distraction and lack of his usual authority over the last few weeks were playing on Moran's mind and he needed to regain control.

"Absolutely nothing, sir. Shall I go to the one around the corner? They'll probably be closed…"

"Tell them I sent you and you won't have any trouble, trust me. Now go! And try not to damage it any more on your way. Your utter incompetence astounds me."

"Consider it done, sir." Sebastian left the flat in a hurry. He hadn't asked what had happened with the girl last night…because he didn't need to. Although Jim was unlike any other person he'd ever met, Sebastian had worked for him long enough now to be able to read his emotions like an, admittedly very complex, book.

Jim flopped backwards onto his bed. He had lost all his energy after that little outburst. Molly was still spinning around in his mind. He really needed a big job to distract him, something…challenging. He wondered what Sherlock was up to. Now _that_ was going to be the biggest job he'd undertaken in a while, but he had to wait. Not everything was perfectly in place yet. But Molly was. _Everything always has a way of coming back around to her at the moment_. He exhaled heavily and covered his face with his hands, screwing up his eyes. Bloody Hooper.

He lay there for another minute or so before making a decision. He needed to get her out of his system and he needed to do it quickly. Pulling on another suit, he left the flat in a hurry. One more night wouldn't hurt. He needed to binge on what he desired so that he could ultimately purge it from him, all in one go.

Molly had just arrived home when there was a knock at her door. She'd had a very long day at the morgue. By two o'clock, her feet had been killing her from wearing heels, something she normally only did for a handful of hours at a time. By half past three, she'd forgotten she was wearing so much makeup and managed to smudge it wearily rubbing her eyes as Sherlock muttered to himself in a corner, surrounded by ever-mounting piles of paper. By quarter to six, she'd used up all her Post-it notes decorating her computer and every paperclip she could find was connected to another. Lestrade had left as his wife was demanding him home for tea – Molly assumed they were currently in the 'on' position of their on-and-off unstable relationship. It hadn't stopped him taking one last long lingering look at her as he left, starting at her aching feet and travelling lecherously up her legs before reaching her chest. And then it was just her and John. John who had been incredibly on edge all day. John who had bought her a packet of crisps from the vending machine and insisted on paying for them. John who said that he was more than happy to stay and lock everything up for her if she wanted to get home a little early, as they had no idea how much longer Sherlock would insist on staying. And John who had, after helping her on with her jacket, stammeringly asked if she'd be available to go for a drink over the next week. Dream Molly had temporarily abandoned her and Real Molly had floundered a little, blushing beetroot and ducking out of the room without giving any kind of firm answer. But now as she thought back on it, she smiled. John was sweet. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to have some harmless fun. Drinks with a friend could always lead to more…who knew?

These thoughts were completely blown from her head as she opened the door. Jim stood in the doorway, chewing gum, hands in pockets, looking completely uninterested. Molly was dumbstruck. She surreptitiously pinched herself behind her back to check that this was real. And upon realising that it was, she could barely contain herself. Whether this newfound confidence was from the clothes, the ego boost of being asked out or a result of the strange power Jim seemed to have to let something loose in her, it didn't matter. She grabbed him by the tie and pulled his mouth to hers hungrily, barely stopping to close the front door. For the briefest of seconds, he was taken aback. But this surprise soon melted into acceptance and then enjoyment. They were barely at the sofa by the time Molly had thrown his suit jacket to one side and was beginning to work on unfastening his belt. Jim had no second thought for his clothes this time, apart from how to remove them as quickly as possible. His hands were scrabbling with the buttons of her blouse and he cursed himself for being so unfocused. He could make short work of any woman's clothes usually, but Molly had the power to distract him to the point of immobility…that thing she was doing with her tongue…

They collapsed onto the sofa in a tangle of naked limbs. Molly couldn't quite believe this was happening at all. _In a minute, I'm going to wake up alone and drenched in sweat, I can tell._ No matter, it was a damn good dream to be having so she decided to make the most of it. There was no way anything that was instigated by drinks with John Watson could make her feel like this. She felt ridiculous for even considering it.

Several hours later, they both lay on the floor of Molly's living room, staring wordlessly up at the peeling paint of the ceiling and panting a little. They were exhausted. Jim's heading was spinning a little and Molly was pretty much speechless. Their appetites were satiated…for now. Molly watched Jim's chest rise and fall heavily and fought the urge to rest her head on it. She dared not move in case she disturbed the atmosphere and the moment was lost. Because right now, she was the happiest she'd been in a very long time. There was something about Jim and the things he did, the way he made her feel…in this instance, she felt like Dream Molly was a thing of the past. She was no longer a dream. Molly Hooper felt invincible.

Jim was unable to think straight. Any intentions he'd had of purging her from his system were long gone. He didn't know if would be able to, especially now. Just thinking about the past few hours made him feel even more tired. They had violated every surface in the room. Yet again, they were both covered in bruises and bite marks and long red scratches. His whole body ached, but in the positive way muscles feel after a satisfying workout. That had been a _most_ satisfying workout indeed. One that he wished to repeat, as soon as he had his strength back. But until then…

Jim propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Molly. She turned to stare unblinkingly up at him with those wide innocent eyes. He knew that that was all a façade…there was very little that was innocent about Molly Hooper. Without a word, he leant down and brushed her lips tenderly with his own. All of the previous aggression and immediate driving desire were gone. What was left after that took Molly's breath away. The kiss was so gentle but simultaneously purposeful, so unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. It was unlike anything Jim had experienced. And he was a man with _a lot _of experience. But this felt different. _What is wrong with you? _His mind was screaming desperately at him. To quiet the voice at the back of his mind, he kissed her again. His hands tangled in her hair as he pulled her face to his, kissing her ever so softly. Just for now, he didn't want to think about what it meant.


	9. Chapter 9

A pretty quick one as I am procrastinating from revision. Hope you like it! R+R as always :)

* * *

John was sat in his chair, nervously tapping the fingers of his right hand on the arm, a mug of coffee going cold in his left. Sherlock had brought a stack of paper home with him from the morgue and was sitting on the floor, sifting through them. It was beginning to go light outside, the faint sounds of birds singing just audible over the early morning London traffic. John had suggested going to bed several times over the last few hours and he hadn't been allowed. Sherlock insisted that John's presence was a vital aspect of his ability to concentrate, especially since his arms were littered with nicotine patches as it was. So there he was, yet another night slumped in his chair, watching his friend mutter and throw bits of paper around. He seemed to spend half his life like this these days. He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face.

_I really need a girlfriend_, he thought. _It's been a while since I went on a date with anyone…not one that Sherlock hasn't managed to ruin anyway_. He cast his mind back over the last few months. He'd been out with quite a few girls and every single one had been a disaster. Not counting the dates Sherlock had actually attended - and there had been more of them than he cared to think about - there hadn't been one that could have been deemed a success. Sherlock deduced and deconstructed the personalities of every girl he had ever brought back to the flat. There had been the caffeine addict, the control freak and the woman who had some pretty serious daddy issues. Although John tried not to believe every problem Sherlock identified, they were all proved eventually. After that, John refused to bring dates back. But even then, things still went wrong. There was the Snickers incident with a girl who didn't like to admit to her peanut allergy. Urgent calls came at the least opportune moments. And there had been one very unfortunate case of mistaken identity…calling out the wrong name in the heat of the moment can never end well.

So John was in the middle of a dry spell. Sherlock had been keeping him particularly busy with case after case and he just couldn't find the time to meet women. He hadn't been to the pub for weeks. He hadn't been intimate with anyone but himself and his laptop for longer than he would ever admit. The only women he saw were Mrs Hudson and the elderly lady in a sari who served him in the corner shop whenever he went in for milk. And unfortunately, neither of these were quite his type. His mind began to wander to Molly today. She had looked…radiant. Like a different woman. Her new clothes, her shoes, her…legs. He'd never seen such a dramatic overnight change. And there was something else. An air of confidence. He'd seen her in a whole new light. He had to admit, he'd always overlooked her previously. She was just an enabler, the girl who made their lives easier by letting them forgo the piles of paperwork they would otherwise need to fill in. And of course she was totally head over heels for Sherlock. But she hadn't exactly turned him down when he asked her out earlier…maybe he was getting a little more desperate than he'd realised, if a lack of refusal now counted as practically a sure thing. He thought about her in that outfit one last time and felt something leap inside him. It _had_ been a while… John picked up his phone and toyed with it for a moment. One text couldn't hurt.

On the other side of London, Molly's phone bleeped. She was lying on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket and Jim's warm body. They had spent the past hour eating warmed up leftovers and channel hopping. They were both exhausted after another athletic session, this time christening both the shower cubicle and the kitchen floor. Now they were naked and entwined, watching an old repeat of a ridiculous sitcom. There was never much on TV this early in the morning. Her body was completely spent and she dreaded to think about the long day that faced her at the morgue. Work was bad enough when she'd had a good night's sleep. But Jim's embrace, the gentle tickle of his breath on the back of her neck, helped her to relax. It felt bizarre to be having such a domestic moment with one of the world's most wanted and dangerous criminals.

Molly reached out her hand to find her phone in the pocket of her jacket which was underneath the sofa. Jim reached around her and pulled her arm back under the blanket.

"Don't you dare," he purred into her ear, making her body tingle. "I want you all to myself." He brushed her ear lobe with his lips before giving it a little tug with his teeth.

"Well I suppose that could be arranged," Molly smiled and rolled over to face him. Their lips met and she felt a little light-headed. It could be a result of the lack of sleep or the two bottles of wine they'd consumed with their food, but it felt like more than that. Even though it had been hours since that first tender kiss on the floor, she was still a little blown away. This was yet another side to the man in front of her. He wasn't Jim from IT, he wasn't Moriarty the consulting criminal, he was just…Jim. The awkward campness wasn't there, nor the burning hostility and psychotic manic tendencies. What was left was a…man. A man with the ability to make her knees shake and her heart flutter in her chest. She felt like a silly schoolgirl. She felt like she used to when confronted with Sherlock. But Sherlock didn't kiss her like that. Even though they'd barely spoken in hours, Molly got the feeling that they didn't need to. Jim's kisses said more than words could. And clichéd as that sounded, she got the feeling that it was literally the case. She couldn't imagine Jim saying all the things she wanted him to. She couldn't imagine him professing his love for her, dropping to his knees and telling her how much she meant to him, presenting a ring. She couldn't imagine him meeting her parents, taking trips to the country with her or hosting dinner parties. He could never give her the life she'd always envisioned for herself…and she found herself not caring. Not one single bit. All she cared about was this moment here, these lips pressing against hers. She couldn't help wondering how long it could last for, and what would happen afterwards. To push these thoughts from her head, she deepened their kiss and manoeuvred herself until she was straddling Jim on the sofa.

"Ready for round three?" she asked, biting her lip seductively and flipping her hair over her shoulder. She leant down and nibbled on his bottom lip, causing him to emit a soft moan from the back of his throat.

"How could I possibly say no to that?" He growled and ran his hands down her bare sides to grasp her hips as he sat up and pulled her further onto his lap.

That text would have to wait.


	10. Chapter 10

EXAMS ARE OVER! I'm so happy :D Expect a lot for Molliarty coming at you...now I just need to work out where this story's going. Enjoy!

* * *

"I thought you knew what you'd got yourself into." Jim walked slowly around the chair on which a huddled woman was shaking and trying not to cry out loud. Sebastian stood in the corner of the room, a firearm trained at the woman's head. There was something strangely attractive to Jim about a man with so much power in his hands. But now was not the time, he already had enough on his mind in that department. "But I guess...I was wrong." His voice had an eerie sing-song tone and the woman whimpered. "I guess you have no idea what kind of man I am. Have you not heard?" He stood in front of her, hands in his pockets, rocking a little from his toes to his heels. She looked up at him, her hair tangled, her eyes red-rimmed from silent crying with mascara running in black streams down her cheeks. He smiled at her, almost as a father would smile at a child. And then suddenly his face contorted and he sprang towards her like an animal attacking its prey, his mouth shouting less than an inch from her own, "Don't you know you I am?" She opened her mouth in a silent scream and shrank back in the chair. Jim chuckled ominously and walked to the door, giving Sebastian a nod as he passed. He turned back as he reached the door. "I know you thought this would be the best way to protect him, but when you make an agreement with me, you _always_ have to follow through with your end of the deal. I gave you a deadline and you missed it. It's as simple as that. No second chances. And don't worry about your...what is he, your _boyfriend_?" Jim sneered the word with malice and undisguised disgust. "I've got a very...special surprise for him."

"Don't hurt him." The woman's voice was barely a whisper and Jim raised his eyebrows in surprise as she addressed him. He formed his mouth into a surprised 'oh' and widened his eyes in mock innocence.

"Why not? Because he's such a great politician? Oh sweetheart, we both know that's not true. So what? Because you _love_ him? How touching. I'm sure his wife would love to hear all about your feelings for him. Although I'm sure she'll be much less...threatened by your presence in their relationship in a few minutes." He turned his back and waved a hand over his shoulder as he left the room. "Toodles."

A gunshot rang out as he walked away down the corridor and he smiled. That sound always managed to cheer him up, no matter how low he was feeling. And he didn't have to be involved in the messy clean-up; that was Sebastian's job. He was a good boy really, Moran, although he had developed a sarcastic side recently. Jim would have to beat that out of him sooner rather than later. But for now, he had a date.

Molly was already sat at their usual table when he arrived. She was dressed to kill and sipping a glass of the restaurant's most expensive red wine as he slid into his seat and smoothed his tie.

"I see you've started without me. Bad girl." He smirked and picked up the menu.

"You'll have to punish me later. Have some wine, it really is worth the money." She motioned at the bottle which he gladly picked up and poured from. Molly had learned a lot about wine whilst she'd been seeing Jim. He had very expensive taste in these things and therefore, so did she. Previously, it would be a bottle of whatever was on half price at the corner shop. But Jim liked to show her a good time and introduce her to all sorts of new taste experiences, and Molly was more than happy to follow along.

"It is when it's not your money," he muttered and swigged his wine down in one. It had been a tiring day. Before the crying mistress, he'd had a two blackmailings, a phone call with the uncooperative head of a little-known terrorist movement and lunch with Irene Adler which was always...challenging. All he wanted now was a good meal and a lot to drink. If Molly was in one of her talkative moods, he'd have to sleep at his own flat after going back to hers. He had never taken her there and he never intended to. They weren't a couple, no matter what she thought. Yes, he took her for nice meals and sometimes he bought her things. But no woman, not even Molly Hooper, was going to become a feature in Jim's home. That was his sanctuary. He'd only started letting Sebastian in recently and that was because things hadn't quite worked out with his cleaning lady. She knew too much, he'd had to...cut her loose. Now Sebastian came around to do a few chores and keep the place to an adequate level of cleanliness. Jim had more important things on his brilliant mind than dishes and vacuuming.

"So...how was your day?" she asked cheerily to break the silence which hung between them as Jim drained his second glass of wine in seconds. Inwardly he grimaced. He couldn't be doing with small talk. When he was in a good mood, it was fine...she could chatter away all she liked. Sometimes it was soothing, like having a pet bird. He quite liked hearing her opinions on trivial matters such as guessing which celebrities were secretly a couple (she always got it wrong, how could people miss such obvious clues?) and what Janine the secretary said to Joanne the lady who worked in the canteen about...someone else whose name probably began with a J who worked in another area of the hospital. But tonight, he was not in the mood. And if she kept talking, he might not even be able have an enjoyable few hours at her flat before making his excuses. It was a shame, as he could _really_ do with that release tonight. He had a lot of pent up aggression from the day and he'd learned recently that Molly could take that in a way few other women would be able to stomach.

"It was fine. Have you ordered yet?" He barely raised his eyes from the menu.

"No." Molly knew better than to keep trying to talk to him. She'd had to learn quickly to identify Jim's moods. Normally after a hard day, he was at maybe a seven out of ten on a scale of frustration. That meant a few short answers, some rough sex and then he'd leave. But today was at least an eight and a half. She'd be lucky if he lasted the meal. The last time he'd been in one of these moods, she'd asked him if she could taste his salmon and he'd got up and left without a word. So she decided to leave it. Better to eat in tense silence than to eat alone. She was always very wary of getting on his bad side. It had been a while since she'd seen him _really_ snap...but that meant they couldn't be far off another incident. Last time, they'd been waiting for his driver outside a restaurant and a drunk guy had called something obscene to Molly from the doorway of a kebab shop. Within seconds, the man had been struggling to breath with Jim's hands clamped tightly around his neck. And then he'd fumed the whole car ride home about the fact that he'd managed to get gravy on his tie. So she sat tight. Tonight seemed a likely night for a tantrum and she'd had too busy a day to worry about that.

The meal was uneventful in the end. Very little conversation made for a slightly awkward atmosphere, and Molly wasn't surprised when Jim's driver pulled up outside her flat and Jim made no move to follow her out of the car. He barely looked at her as the car pulled away. Molly felt deflated as she unlocked her front door. She should have known from the outset that there was no way she would be able to have a normal relationship with Jim. If this was a relationship. It didn't really feel like one. She didn't know what it was. She sighed and slumped onto the couch. At times, it was brilliant. They had fun. It was possible to forget that he was one of the world's most dangerous criminals as they ate takeaway pizza and watched American Idol reruns. But that was only when she caught him in a good mood. When she didn't, the evenings ended like this. Maybe she should call it a day. But she couldn't. For a start, how on Earth do you dump a slightly psychopathic killer? She knew exactly what he was capable of. And there was something else. The physical side of their relationship was like nothing Molly had ever experienced before. True, she wasn't the most worldly girl, but she wasn't exactly a prude. She knew what she liked. Or she thought she had, until Jim ignited something new in her. _Now_ she knew what she liked. And no one else would ever measure up to that. She groaned out loud and reached for her phone. Of course he hadn't texted her. He very rarely did. He tended to just show up at her flat unannounced, or they'd make plans to see each other as he left in the early hours of the morning. She'd sent him a few texts, but she never got a reply so she'd stopped bothering. She scrolled through her inbox. There was that text from John from a while ago, sitting there expectantly. She'd seen him briefly since and there had most definitely been an elephant in the room. He never asked why she hadn't replied, and she never acknowledged that she'd received anything to reply to. Now she sat and read it again. She'd hardly given it a thought since she'd read it the first time.

_Hi, I was just wondering if you'd thought any more on what I suggested about a drink. Let me know. I just think it might be fun – JW_

Maybe it would be fun. He was a nice man. Maybe that was what she needed. Of course, she always found herself slightly awkward around Sherlock and John after what she'd agreed to do for Jim...she pushed it to the back of her mind as she had been doing for weeks. He hadn't needed her to do anything yet...perhaps it would never happen. Jim said he was "waiting for the right time". Who knew when that would be? So that didn't matter. And clearly Jim didn't want anything to do with her tonight...

_I'm free tonight if you are. You know my address. Bring wine – Molly x_

And now to wait. Part of her hoped he would be busy. The same part of her that was trying desperately not to think about how Jim would react.


	11. Chapter 11

John was nervous as he stepped into the lift which would take him up to Molly's flat. He cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. It was thirty six minutes after he'd received her reply. He hoped he wasn't going to come across as too keen. He checked the carrier bag he was holding. He hadn't know what kind of wine she liked, so he had three bottles – one white, one red and one rosé. It had completely thrown him off when she'd asked him to come round. He'd expected their...date, I suppose you'd call it...to involve a couple of drinks in a pub, maybe head back to her flat for a casual night-cap. He had never expected her to be quite so forward. He'd been at the pub when he'd heard from her – he'd left the flat despite Sherlock's instructions not to, hoping that his friend wouldn't notice for a while. He had been very deeply absorbed in his work. So John had had a few pints, and after Molly's text, a few shots to pluck up some Dutch courage. As the doors dinged open at the fourth floor, he cleared his throat again and took a deep breath. _Here we go..._

Molly opened the door, holding an empty wine glass in her hand. "John!" she exclaimed, hugging him before holding the door open for him to come in. She felt a little uncomfortable as she hadn't changed out of the clothes she'd worn to dinner, and she felt somewhat overdressed next to John's casual jumper. John however, thought she looked breathtaking. He'd known Molly for a while and he could never have imagined her in such a figure-hugging dress. He was even more nervous now, feeling a little underprepared for the whole evening. What was this drink to entail? He had no clue. All he knew was that it was too late to back out now, and after seeing Molly he didn't think he'd want to.

"I brought wine. I didn't know what you liked, so..." he trailed off tentatively as she flopped down onto the sofa and propped her bare feet on the coffee table. It was clear to him that she wasn't exactly what you'd call sober. In some ways, this took the edge off a little. Chances were he could make a bit of a fool of himself and she wouldn't mind quite so much.

"Oh John, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you...I just finished a bottle as you arrived. I'm not really fussy, just open whatever you fancy!" She seemed very over-enthusiastic and as soon as he sat down on the sofa next to her, she scooted up close to him as he unscrewed the lid to the bottle of white. He poured some for her before helping himself to a generous glass. He clearly had some catching up to do.

An hour later, they had consumed every drop of alcohol in Molly's flat. After the three bottles of wine, they'd found some brandy stashed away in a cupboard and made short work of it. It had been a really enjoyable night so far – they'd talked at length about everything under the sun...except for Sherlock, both of them made a conscious effort to avoid that subject; they'd watched a bit of rubbish late night TV and laughed so raucously that Molly's neighbours had banged on the wall; they'd eaten a cheap and greasy takeaway delivered by a sulky teenage boy who obviously resented these adults having more fun with their night than he was. Now they were still. He was lounging on the sofa with her head in his lap, absent-mindedly stroking her hair away from her face. This moment of peace made John realise quite how much he'd had to drink and began to wonder if he should go home. Sherlock didn't really approve of him showing up at four in the morning, smashed and stumbled. Suddenly, Molly sat up and turned to look at him a little blearily.

"John...can I ask you something?" Her tone was serious. He nodded silently. "Do you...do you think that maybe...we could go to bed?" John was taken aback. Most women didn't ask so formally. But then most women didn't invite him around in the middle of the night to get hammered. He gulped and tried to form a coherent thought.

"Well...we...is that something that you would...want?" he finally managed to stammer out. She nodded sleepily and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I have work tomorrow and I need to sleep...but I don't really like to go to bed alone, y'know? The world is scary, John. I don't want to be alone tonight."

He nodded. This made more sense. He was more comfortable with this. Despite being drunker than he had for a while, he managed to hook one arm under her legs and with the other supporting her back, carry her to the bedroom. He placed her gently on the bed and watched as she didn't bother to undress or remove her makeup...instead she just crawled under the duvet and curled herself up into a ball, as if protecting herself. He couldn't help but think, through his heavy intoxication, that as stunning as she looked when she was all dolled up, Molly Hooper was at her most beautiful now. So vulnerable...there was a complete honesty to it which he hadn't seen in her new attire. She seemed so...fragile. He wanted to climb into bed beside her, wrap his body around hers and keep her safe from the world she was so afraid of. And that's what he did. He was encouraged by her groggily patting the space in the bed next to her. He pulled off his jeans and jumper, and slide under the covers next to her. The heat from her body seemed to draw him in and that's how they lay; facing the same way, his larger body shielding her thin frame, both breathing deeply and in unison as they drifted off to sleep. And both of them thought that at that moment, something just felt...right.

The next morning, however, was an entirely different matter. John was woken by the light coming through the thin curtains covering the window. Hazily, he opened his eyes and surveyed the room from below heavy lids. _Where the hell am I?_ He rolled over, rubbing his hand across his eyes and saw Molly standing in the doorway, wrapped in her dressing gown. He started up in bed, clutching the duvet around him protectively.

"Molly? Molly!"

"You sound surprised to see me, considering this is in fact my flat," she said, massaging her temples. She was still wearing the remains of last night's makeup and looked like death warmed up. Even in his bleary mental state, John was still able to make a feeble morgue joke in his head.

"What...did we...can you remember what happened last night?" John was bewildered. The night before was a blur. He remembered a lot of laughing, a lot of drinking...and not a lot else.

"Don't worry, we didn't _do _anything. We fell asleep. Now do you want some coffee? I have to leave for work soon." She sounded exasperated. John was still struggling to get his thoughts straight and make sense of this situation. His head was pounding and reeling, every time he moved a wave of nausea swept through him and the last thing he wanted to think about right now was coffee. He wanted to sleep, possibly forever, definitely until this horrible hangover had passed. But clearly that wasn't an option.

Molly stalked back into the kitchen and made herself a coffee with the freshly boiled water in the kettle. She felt terrible. Yes, she had a severe hangover and the thought of the journey to work was making her want to cry, but it wasn't just that. What was Jim going to say? Obviously she didn't intend to tell him...but he'd told her that he had ways of knowing things. And she couldn't imagine he was going to take this news lightly. He couldn't possibly know what happened inside her flat (could he?), but John arriving so late and leaving so early didn't exactly present a good impression. Would he take it better if she told him, or should she hope he wouldn't find out? Her hands shook as she spooned sugar into her mug. She'd never done anything like this before, and especially not to the Napoleon of crime. She buried her face in her hands. _I am never drinking again_.

Jim was unknowingly mirroring Molly's actions, sitting in his kitchen and nursing a cup of coffee. Sebastian was yet to arrive to clean the flat and he was taking advantage of having some uninterrupted time to think. He was glad he hadn't spent last night with Molly. She'd been grating on his last nerve and he really didn't want to have to do anything too bad to her so early in their strange little relationship. It had been all he could do to get through dinner without wanting to strap a bomb someone, possibly even himself. But he didn't want to think about her today. He had one more meeting and then he would be able to begin the slow progress of putting his plans for Sherlock Holmes into motion. The next time he saw Miss Hooper would be strictly business. He needed his full concentration for this to come off without a hitch, and if she was going to be chatty he didn't have time for it. A little...stress release might be nice, but he was more than capable of handling that alone if needs be. All in all, he was feeling fairly positive. Better than he had last night anyway. Until...

"Sir, I have something I think you should see," Sebastian called as he let himself in through the front door. "I don't think you're going to be happy."


	12. Chapter 12

Hopefully I'll be able to update more frequently now that I'm finally home for the summer. Just a quick one to tide you over, but I'm going to get back on track soon. Let me know what you think, not my finest work in my opinion.

* * *

Jim Moriarty was _not _in a good mood. Sebastian had shown him grainy CCTV images of John Watson entering Molly's building late last night and then more from only a matter of hours ago when he had left. Moriarty had thrown the laptop at the wall, causing a dent in the plaster and a suppressed whimper from Moran as his Macbook flew through the air and then crashed to the floor. Sebastian had tried to calm his boss down as he picked up the pieces of his laptop, suggesting that Watson and Molly were friends because of Holmes and that there was nothing untoward going on. Moriarty had threatened him with a bread knife until he agreed to drive over to St Bart's and stand guard at the door of the morgue. As he drove, Sebastian kept checking the rear view mirror to catch glimpses of the man in the back seat. The slightly more placid Jim of the last few weeks was a distant memory. Moriarty glared out of the window, grinding his teeth. His eyes were narrowed as if glaring at the whole world. Sebastian shuddered. He did not envy Molly Hooper at this moment.

Molly was settling down at her desk with a stack of paperwork. She was suffering badly after all the wine and was looking forward to a quiet day of pretending to work whilst necking painkillers and silently hating herself. Just as she'd arrived at work, she got a text from John saying that Sherlock, who had been planning to stop by, was going to be "pursuing other leads today". That had come as something of a relief. Clearly neither of them was in a fit state to be in a room together. Even though nothing had happened, there was something weighing on her mind. She _felt_ as though something had happened, as though she had something to feel guilty about. She took a deep breath and tried to push this from her mind. If she felt bad now, it was absolutely nothing to how she would feel when Jim... She couldn't even finish the thought. She knew he was a dangerous man, but since their whatever-it-was had started, she had never feared for her own safety. Now though, she was beginning to worry. As she tried desperately to focus her mind on the autopsy report in front of her, she suddenly heard a breath from across the room. She glanced up and nearly fell off her chair. Jim was standing, hands in pockets, his face expressionless. Even as she rose slowly to her feet, he didn't move, didn't twitch, didn't even blink. He just looked at her from dark menacing eyes that were completely unreadable.

"I, erm...I didn't hear you come in?" Her voice quavered a little. "Can I get you a drink or anything?" _No need to give anything away. Maybe he doesn't know. Maybe he's just having another bad day._

"You know why I'm here." His voice was low and still he didn't move, apart from his lips which formed the words she had been dreading.

"Do I? Is it not just to see little old me then?" Molly's voice shook, but she made a feeble attempt to diffuse the heavy and terrifying tension which hung in the air between them.

Moriarty began to walk towards her. For that's who he was. Jim wasn't here. This was Moriarty, through and through. As she so often did, Molly thought of how his movements seemed bestial – a predator stalking its prey. Sometimes this wilder side had been exciting, attractive even, as she knew he was about to pounce on her in the bedroom. Now it almost made her heart stop.

"Oh you know exactly what you've done. Little Molly Hooper..." He reached where she was stood, stock still behind her desk, and leaned his face inches from hers as he spoke. His voice was chilling. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out? Did you really think you'd get away with it?"

Molly swallowed and opened her mouth to speak. No sound came out. Her body was motionless, petrified by fear. But inside, she could practically feel her internal organs quaking.

"And it's such a shame. I was just starting to get used to you. But this can't happen again." His voice sank to an almost imperceptible whisper. "And I'm going to make sure it doesn't."


	13. Chapter 13

"I'll do anything..." Molly's voice was weak and shaking, her lips trembling so much the words barely made sense. Moriarty's face remained stony. It was as if he hadn't heard her, although she was sure he had. "I promise...I _promise_. Just please...please don't –"

She was cut short by his hand clamping around her throat. She wheezed and spluttered as his grip tightened, constricting her windpipe and making her eyes water. "And why the hell should I trust you, hmm? You've not exactly proved yourself to be someone who is worthy of my trust. Look at you, you're not worthy of anything from me. I've clearly been wasting my time. If you can go straight from dinner with _me_ to bed with Sherlock's little plaything...the very thought of it makes me sick." He spat the word in her face, making her flinch. "And why did you do it?" He squeezed a little harder and Molly's eyes widened, tears now pouring down her reddening cheeks. "Because I wasn't in the mood to listen to your idle chatter? Was Johnny-boy a good _listener_? I bet he was. Well it's good to know that you're so loyal. Molly Hooper, you've messed with the wrong man. And now you're going to pay for it..." He raised his other hand to where the first was holding her neck and pressed down hard with both of his thumbs. Molly's vision started to blur, Moriarty's piercing eyes wavering in and out of focus. _This is it_, she thought. _This is the end. I really never imagined that I'd die like this_. Suddenly the strains of a familiar song began from somewhere. Molly thought she must be hallucinating, with what little power she had left to think. _But why would my subconscious choose the Bee Gees?_

Molly's body flopped to the floor and she took a great gulp of air, writhing like a fish out of water, her lungs rasping as her oxygen-starved body tried to take in as much as possible. There were lights dancing before her eyes and everything seemed hazy and surreal. She could hear an Irish accent, a man's voice shouting and the tinny sound of someone on the other end of the phone crying. She was pulled up into her desk chair by her shoulders and Moriarty's face came sharply into focus as he leaned inches from her.

"This is _not _over, Hooper."

And then he was gone. There was no trace that he'd been there in the first place. Molly sat in chair, completely dazed by what had just happened. She felt nauseous and her head was pounding...a hangover on top of an attempted murder was not going to be conducive to a hard day's work. But she didn't want to go home, couldn't leave the hospital. She may be the only person in the morgue, but there was CCTV and people just down the corridor. In her flat, who could say what would happen? Not that she would be safe anywhere. He'd made that clear enough by turning up here. And who could say when he would be back? Shakily, Molly took a sip of water. _What the hell am I supposed to do?_

As the big black car with tinted windows roared across London, Jim Moriarty gazed unseeingly out at the bleak streets of the capital. He was disappointed. Not just in Molly, although there was that. He felt mostly anger towards her but something in him felt...what? Betrayed? Inwardly, he scoffed. Stupid, _human _emotion. That couldn't be it. But mostly he was disappointed in himself. It wouldn't have taken long to finish her off back there. That phone call had been urgent, but he could even have taken care of Molly with one hand...there really hadn't been much more to be done with her. But he'd let her live. He'd let her survive, even if just for a little bit longer. And he couldn't for the life of him fathom why. When he'd left the morgue and given Sebastian the address they were now on their way to, Moran had asked him, "Business all...taken care of, sir?" Moriarty had ignored him. This business was far from being over, but it was plaguing him as to why that was the case. What could possibly have possessed him to leave when he did? Yes, Molly had been lined up to play a very important role in his final game with Sherlock. But minions are interchangeable. He could get anyone to do what he needed her for. There had been something about the feel of her neck under his hands, the look in her eyes as he squeezed each breath from her weakening body...it just hadn't felt the same as it normally did. He normally enjoyed it. That waiter from the restaurant who'd eyed her up, countless drunken louts making comments...he'd done that for her. He never thought he'd be doing it _to_ her. And he really hadn't enjoyed it. Maybe that was why. Maybe he didn't actually want her dead, no matter what his brain told him. _But why? What makes her so bloody special?_

At least he had this meeting to look forward to. Someone who owed him a small fortune had been very inconsistent and was about to get what they deserved. He didn't like inconsistency in others, it frustrated him. Maybe killing this whimpering idiot would take his mind off everything else. Maybe he'd have to find a few more whimpering idiots before he started to feel better. For some reason, he found himself thinking that he would rather have the blood of a thousand humans on his hands than spill one drop of Molly Hooper's. _What is happening to me?_

* * *

Okay, I really hope no one thinks that was a cop-out...but if you want this story to continue, both characters have to be alive, even just a little while longer ;)


	14. Chapter 14

After that, Molly's day was very uneventful. She spent most of it flinching at nothing and watching the seconds tick by very slowly, just waiting for Moriarty to show up again. The more of the day went by without him visiting, the more nervous Molly got. _He'd biding his time. Which means that when he _does_ come for me, it'll be even worse. Oh God...why did I let this happen? Bloody John and his bloody niceness! _ _How has it come to this?_

Just as she thought this, her phone bleeped with a text message. It was John, asking if it would be possible for Sherlock and himself to come to the morgue for a few hours later that day. While Molly was dreading leaving St Bart's to go home to her isolated flat, surely it would be more dangerous to be seen John, especially today? She replied saying that they could if they wanted to, but she wouldn't be there. And with that, she picked up her bag and coat and left work. She couldn't just sit around, waiting for Moriarty to come back and kill her. If her number was up - as she suspected it was after this morning's incident - why should she spend her final hours in the morgue? That seemed a little too ironic for her liking.

John read Molly's reply and felt something drop inside him. He was a little disappointed in all honesty. He'd managed to convince Sherlock that going back to the morgue would be a useful thing to do because he'd wanted to speak to Molly. But she clearly didn't want anything to do with him. Even though nothing had physically happened and despite the fact that he'd been so unceremoniously chucked out this morning, he still felt as though there had been something there. Some emotional connection, some spark he hadn't felt in a very long time. He hadn't been able to get her out of his mind all day. They'd never spent much time alone together before and he'd never thought of her as much more than Sherlock's little helper. But now he wanted to get to know her better, wanted to learn what made her tick. She seemed to have a lot more to her than it originally seemed. But today would not be the day for that. He sighed. If he'd scared her off, he'd kick himself. And Sherlock would _not_ be happy if this compromised their access to St Bart's.

As soon as Molly got home, she double locked her front door and sat herself down with a bottle of wine. She intended to watch some TV and take her mind off the whole sorry business. That wasn't going to happen in a hurry. Every channel seemed to have something ominous to say; the news showed a crime scene in central London where a businessman had been found dead in his fancy apartment, there were an awful lot of crime dramas and police programmes on, and even Gordon Ramsey was making a chicken casserole "to die for". She shuddered and turned the TV off. She knew she wouldn't be able to settle to anything until she knew what was going to happen. _I'd rather just get it over with and die than live on tenterhooks...I can't function at all like this_. She poured herself a large glass of wine and gulped it down quickly. The more alcohol she had in her system, the easier she would find sleeping tonight.

Jim Moriarty sat in his apartment on the other side of London, also draining glass after glass of wine. Sebastian was pottering around the place, discreetly trying to busy himself, not wanting to leave his boss alone. He couldn't be sure what would happen if he did. Much as he would never admit it, he really did care about the crazy bastard. Jim had become more than just an employer to him. Even though affection wasn't something the mighty Moriarty specialised in, Sebastian could tell that the way he treated him was as close to it as he was every going to get. So he didn't just want to leave when Jim was clearly so unstable, even if that was his usual state. Tonight was something very different.

"Moran, get in here." It was the first words Jim had addressed to Sebastian in hours. He hurried through and Jim merely waved the empty wine bottle in the air. His eyes were glazed over and he didn't even glance up as Sebastian took the bottle from his hand and went to fetch another from the kitchen. There was something terrifying about Jim's lack of focus. He was normally so quick, so sharp and obviously that was scary. But when he let himself go, drowning his sorrows in endless bottles of very expensive wine, that was worse. He was so unpredictable at the best of times. _Molly Hooper, what on Earth have you done?_ he thought as he uncorked the new bottle and took it through to his waiting boss.

Molly awoke suddenly by a car alarm starting up outside. She looked at her watch blearily. Quarter past two. She must have dozed off on the sofa. Sitting upright and stretching, she surveyed the room. The lights were still on, her glass of wine sitting unfinished on the coffee table. Three empty bottles were sat at her feet. Maybe it was time for bed. She stumbled through to her bedroom and for the second night in a row, drunkenly slid under the covers fully clothed. As she drifted off into a dark dreamless sleep, she worried vaguely whether this would be how every night would play out from now on. She doubted Moriarty would be losing sleep over this.

"Come on, you..." Sebastian heaved Jim upright and staggered with him into the bedroom. It was nearly three in the morning and Moran had much better things to be doing with his time than helping his paralytic boss into bed. His favourite bars would be closing soon, the people he'd intended to meet up with for a drink had stopped expecting him long ago, all the strangers he would have flirted with were retiring to bed with someone else. Moriarty was becoming his life and looking at him now, that seemed like a very sad thing to admit. Sebastian stripped the Armani jacket from Jim's shoulders and hung it up. He would never be forgiven if he allowed Jim to ruin this suit. He expertly unclipped the belt holding the trousers and whipped them off. Let's just say he'd had a lot of practise. As he turned back to the bed now the suit was safely away, he saw that Jim had already slipped under the duvet and was passed out. There was something oddly endearing about his vulnerability at this moment. Sebastian felt...needed. That wasn't something Jim could make anyone feel very often; he was an island, a solitary man who didn't rely on anyone. But tonight, he relied on Moran. The thought made the younger man smile as he turned out the light and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.


	15. Chapter 15

There was a knock at the door of 221B Baker Street. Mrs Hudson was in bed and Sherlock had gone out, John had no idea where. So he dragged himself from his armchair where he'd been dozing with a book in his hands and answered the door. Molly Hooper stood on the doorstep.

"Molly...erm, hi. I wasn't expecting anyone at –" John's words were cut short by Molly stepping inside and pushing him against the wall, kissing him fiercely. His mind was temporarily silenced as he tried to fathom what was happening. He was too overwhelmed to think straight, enjoying the feeling of her lips on his and her hands snaking under his jumper, cold on his warm skin and sending a shiver down his spine. Everything was a muddle of lips and tongue and teeth. As he began to regain some ability to move, he buried his hands in her hair, deepening the kiss. They broke apart briefly as she pulled off his jumper and T shirt, throwing them aside before feverishly drawing him back in. Her fingers trailed down his chest, stopping just short of his belt buckle and causing him to emit a throaty groan of frustration. She smirked at him before kissing along his jaw line and down his neck. He was temporarily left breathless as she dragged her teeth across his throat. His hands began furiously to explore her body, actually ripping the buttons from her blouse in his haste to tear it from her. He couldn't quite believe that this was happening. With Molly Hooper! Her skin was smooth and hot under his fingers and she writhed a little at his touch, letting out a soft moan as his hands slid down inside the waistband of her skirt. She finally rid him of his trousers and he kicked them away. Molly broke the kiss and raised one eyebrow seductively before sinking to her knees and John let his head fall back in ecstasy. His eyes flickered close as he breathed heavily...

And when he opened them, he was in his bed, twisted in the sheets and sweating. Alone. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. _Wow_. That had been a good dream. A _very_ good dream. It had seemed so real, every touch felt electric, every kiss stirring something deep inside him. He was a little breathless even now as he lay back and stared up at the patterns made on the ceiling by the shadows coming through the window. Tomorrow, he'd text Molly again.

When Molly woke up the following morning, she groaned. The light poured through the curtains, blazing as she attempted to shield her eyes with her hand. Her head was absolutely reeling, her mouth dry, her stomach churning. _Never again. I'm going to empty every bottle of wine in this flat down the sink before I do that again_. She swore under her breath as she pulled her dressing gown over her clothes from the day before and dragging herself into the kitchen. And then she stopped dead. Sitting on her sofa, resplendent in his finest Westwood but looking a little weary and with bloodshot eyes, sat Moriarty. His driver (although Molly was beginning to suspect his duties were a little more ominous than just that, judging by the suspiciously gun-shaped bulge in his jacket) was stood in front of the door, blocking her only means of escape. She stood stock still, unable to move or speak. _A sitting target_, she thought. _There really is nothing I can do._

"Aah Molly, how lovely to see you." His voice was a little hoarse but the way Moriarty smiled at her as he spoke was what turned Molly's stomach even more than last night's wine was. He was so...calm. Gone was the psychotic outburst of the day before. He patted the space on the sofa next to him genially, as a father might to encourage his child to sit beside him. Shakily, she moved across the room, unsure as to where she should be looking. _Do as he says. Don't give him any reason to make this worse than it already will be._

"Molly, I'd like us to put what happened yesterday behind us."

She was taken aback. He was willing to, what? Forgive and forget? That didn't sound like the Moriarty she knew. Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she looked up at him. His face was unreadable. He seemed genuine.

"I mean, obviously if you betray me again, your skin will be adorning a rather attractive lampshade in my apartment faster than you can blink. But as long as you ensure that you never do anything to get on my bad side again, I think we can return to the way we were. Don't you?" His tone was so flippant, she couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"I...are you...why?" Her voice shook as she spoke. This was too good to be true.

"Because, Molly, you're useful," Jim leaned back on the sofa and absent-mindedly straightened his tie. This informality did nothing to put Molly more at ease; she was tense and breathless, waiting for him to flip a switch and turn on her. "I need you to help me bring down Sherlock. Everyone's replaceable, but surely I don't need to go to the effort of recruiting someone new to play your part when you're here and so...willing. You are still willing, aren't you? You didn't spill any of our little arrangement to Johnny-boy, did you? Because that would be a whole different matter..." Suddenly he turned to look at her, his eyes fierce. She shrank away from him against the arm of the sofa, increasing the space between them. There he was, the dangerous side.

"Oh no, no, no, I promise. I didn't do anything like that. In fact, I didn't really do anything...we just talked and then we fell asleep..." Jim silenced her with a wave of his hand.

"Details, merely details. Anyway, now that this little matter is cleared up, we have a table reserved tonight at eight. A car will pick you up, don't be late." He rose to his feet and moved towards the door. Molly stayed seated but swivelled around to watch him leave. She wasn't sure that her legs would hold her just yet. She probably wouldn't make it into work today, not after all this. "Oh and Molly?" He turned back briefly and she looked at him keenly, like a dog with its ear pricked up. This made him smile. "Wear the dress."

He clicked his fingers and his driver opened the door. They both exited and Molly was left alone. She flopped down so she was lying on the sofa. All the adrenaline which had been coursing through her body was gone and she felt exhausted. _Wow, that was...too close._ She closed her eyes and tried to get her head around what had just happened. She was alive and it seemed like she was going to stay that way so long as she kept her head down and did what Jim wanted. When her task was completed would a totally different story, and not one that she wanted to think about just yet. For now she had a phonecall to make to her boss and then she needed to spend the day making herself look reasonable. With two day's worth of hangover, that wouldn't be too easy. She was breathing heavily and still couldn't quite believe this. Maybe he was right, maybe it could all go back to how it was before.

As the car sped away from Molly's flat, Jim found himself smiling quite without meaning to. Everything seemed to be going to plan. Yes, he really _should_ have killed Molly but clearly that hadn't been going to happen. So having her live in constant fear of him would be the next best thing. It might even turn out to be a more lucrative situation than just disposing of her would have been. And now he had someone to take to dinner again. Although he hated himself for it, Jim was beginning to find eating alone a little tiresome. Ninety percent of the time, he preferred it but occasionally it was nice to have someone there. And Moran would never do – although he had the training of a military man, he had the etiquette and table manners of a wild animal. Jim couldn't possibly take him anywhere nice. _No_, he thought. _This has worked out pretty nicely._

* * *

As always, your reviews are my motivation to carry on with this story so feedback is welcomed! Hope you're enjoying it :D


	16. Chapter 16

Molly unlocked the door and stepped to one side to let Jim pass her into the flat. They'd had a lovely evening; good food, good wine and they'd actually seemed to enjoy each other's company. It worried Molly a little to see how much he seemed to like seeing on edge. Because she was – totally on edge. She barely took a sip of her drink or a bite of her food without glancing at Jim to make sure it was okay first. And he clearly relished this behaviour. There had been a slightly hairy moment when one of the waiters had tried flirting with Molly, but she was nervous and closed off that he stopped before Jim had to have him 'taken care of'. She closed the door but was caught off guard as she turned around as Jim pinned her up against the door.

"I've missed this..." he murmured before crushing his lips against hers. Her knees trembled as his tongue caressing hers, his hands gripping her wrists behind her back. She'd missed it too. The heat of his body through his expensive suit, his excitement unmistakeable no matter how detached he tried to act...it was all she had been able to think about. That, and the fact that she was sure he'd been going to kill her. But she put that out of her mind. He seized her in his strong arms and carried her through to the bedroom, not breaking their kiss once. Tossing her on the bed, he began to undress himself, never taking his eyes off her, his dark gaze piercing in the dimly lit room. Her mobile phone starting bleeping. It was under the sofa, having fallen out of her jacket as Jim carried her across the room. Molly unzipped her dress, sliding it off to reveal black lace underwear. The phone bleeped again. Jim's head turned towards the bedroom door, but Molly grabbed him by his tie which he was in the process of untying to distract him. She used to tie to lead him onto the bed and began to kiss his neck, sliding her hands inside his shirt. Nibbling his earlobe, she heard her phone bleep again.

"Ignore it," she purred in his ear, sending a little shiver down his spine. But then it bleeped again. And again. Jim pulled away from her and went to retrieve the phone. Molly followed him through into the lounge and reached out her hand for the little black device. Rather than handing it over, Jim flipped it open. His face, which before had seemed frustrated by the continuous distractions, suddenly contorted in rage. Before she could say a word, Molly found herself pinned by the throat against the bedroom doorframe. Jim's eyes blazed and his nostrils flared as he waved the phone at her with his free hand.

"Is this some kind of _joke_? Do I look like a man who doesn't keep his promises?" Molly spluttered and tried to shake her head, eyes bulging and full of tears. "_Five _text messages from Watson? Really, Molly? Is this how you get back in my good books? Did you think I wouldn't be true to my word?" He tightened his grip as he read from the phone's screen in a mocking tone of voice. "_Hi Molly, I can't stop thinking about the other night, do you want to go for another drink sometime? Hey, Sherlock's being a pain today, can't wait to meet up with you soon. Hi Mols_ – MOLS? He calls you '_Mols_'?" Without once taking his eyes from her face, Jim threw Molly's phone as hard as he could. It smashed through the glass of the window and plummeted into the dark London night. She winced as the glass shards flew all over the room. "Explain yourself. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now. Go on."

Finally he relinquished his grasp and let her slide to the floor. He stalked across to the broken window and stared out, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his trousers. His tie hung loosely around his neck and his unfastened shirt billowed in the breeze coming through the hole in the glass. Molly struggled to her feet but didn't dare approach him.

"Jim, I...I promise there's nothing going on. Have you seen me text anyone all night? You were the first person to read all those messages; I had nothing to do with them. I haven't encouraged him in any way, you _have_ to believe me..." Her voice failed her as tears began to spill down her cheeks. "I'll delete his number, I won't see him again. I'll do anything, just please don't..." Jim turned around and surveyed her, this poor sobbing woman clinging on the doorframe for support. She looked so vulnerable, makeup streaking down her face, dressed only in her underwear. Ordinarily crying women nauseated him. It wasn't something that ever bought his victims sympathy; in fact, it was often the factor which sealed their fate. Tears were more likely to get you a bullet hole through the head than a pat on the back from Jim Moriarty. But he found himself itching to take Molly in his arms, stroke her hair and whisper comforting things into her ear until she stopped crying. He'd never done anything like that before, of course, but he'd seen it enough times in those terribly predictable soap operas Sebastian insisted on watching when he was left alone in Jim's flat.

"I don't think there's any need for you to delete his number, do you? That phone won't be much use to you anymore." He crossed the room to where she was cowering. As he approached, she looked even more terrified. Ever so softly, Jim ran one fingers down Molly's cheek, tracing the track of her tears. Then he smoothed the hair away from her face. She smiled weakly. Suddenly he grabbed a handful of her hair at the nape of her neck and yanked her head back so hard that she yelped. "But remember..._Mols_...if you ever play me for a fool again. _Ever_. I won't even have to think twice..." He ran his nails across her throat, leaving four livid red scratch marks. She whimpered, squeezing her eyes tightly shut to stop any more tears from escaping. Gently, he let go of her hair and wrapped his arms around her. She was shaking violently and clearly unsure about what she was supposed to do now. "There's a good girl. Daddy will have no reason to hurt you so long as you do _exactly_ as I tell you...agreed?" She hesitated, then nodded, her face pressed against his shoulder as she slowly snaked her arms around his waist. "That's my girl."

* * *

I just want to say a huuuuuge thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing. In the month of June, this story has had over 2,000 hits from the US alone...that is such a crazy thought to an unemployed student from England who is writing this as a means to not go crazy over a very long summer :P I am so thankful that people like it enough to keep coming back for more, and I love every single one of my readers :D x


	17. Chapter 17

Moran stood on the balcony of Jim's apartment, leaning on the railing and looking out over London. He was stripped to the waist and had a cigarette clamped between his lips. His favourite shirt was stained with blood from today's business meetings and he was soaking it in a bowl of salt water in the kitchen. He had spares of course, but for now he was happy like this. It was a warm evening and the little breeze there was felt nice on his bare chest. His torso, a muddle of scars and tattoos, was losing muscle tone a little and he cursed under his breath as he flexed his arms. He'd have to work a little harder. He heard a noise behind him and he was joined by Jim on the balcony. The shorter man came and leant on the railing next to him, gazing out over the city. The sun was just beginning to set. It was almost idyllic.

"Seb, you know how I feel about you smoking." Jim didn't take his eyes off the sunset but there was disapproval in his voice.

"Sorry boss." Moran reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a squashed packet of cigarettes and a lighter which he passed over. Jim had enforced a strict rule; no smoking in the house or the car or within five feet of his most expensive suits, but if Moran absolutely insisted on smoking, it had to be somewhere well ventilated and he was obligated to share. Jim lit the cigarette and took a long drag. He emitted a little moan as he exhaled.

"Aah that's good. First one in...how long has it been?"

"Nearly six months. You've been being good recently." They caught each other's eyes and smirked. It was their little joke. At times, it was easy for Jim to forget that Sebastian was merely an employee. He was the only person who was allowed in the flat, the only person who knew Moriarty's plans. He had penetrated the inner sanctum of the consulting criminal's life even further than Molly had, without Jim meaning it to happen.

"So what are you doing tonight?" Jim asked, taking another drag. There were a lot of plans to be made over the weekend, but he could do them alone and had given Moran the weekend off. Jim had another 'date' (he hated the word, but there wasn't really a better term for dinner followed by sex, not that he knew of anyway) with Molly that evening and then he needed to get on with his work with no distractions. He knew that his bodyguard didn't really like leaving him alone, but Jim was insisting. It had been a long time since Sebastian had had any time to himself or even slept in his own flat – a tiny bedsit in a dodgy area – judging by the state Jim's sofa was in recently.

"Nothing specific. Might go to that new bar in Soho, heard it's worth a look." Jim smiled knowingly as he drank in the view. On his rare nights off, Sebastian tended to go bar-hopping and bed-hopping, and he had a special talent for picking out the seediest places. Jim had heard abysmal reviews of that particular bar and it was somewhere that he wouldn't be seen dead in...maybe a few years ago, but not anymore. The thought made him shudder; a darkened room full of sweaty people who couldn't hold their drink and didn't understand the importance of a good suit. But Moran's standards were noticeably more lax than Jim's.

"Well...have fun." Jim stubbed out his cigarette on the railing and flicked the end off the balcony. He took a deep breath in, stretched his arms and turned to go back inside.

"Oh I'll do my best, sir."

That night, Molly was woken up by Jim flailing in his sleep. She sat up, rubbing an arm across her eyes, and dodged a waving hand. He was tossing and turning, muttering frantically under his breath. She sighed and climbed out of bed. It was four in the morning and this was the third time this had happened this week. When he finally woke up, which he eventually would, he would sit bolt upright, his hands clawing at the duvet and eyes wildly searching the room. He would drink a glass of water, or whiskey if there was any left, refuse to speak about it and go back to sleep. Molly would inevitably find sleep difficult to come by and lie staring at the ceiling until the sun rose. It really bothered her to see him in such a state. Even when he was around her, watching post-coital bad TV and cuddling on the sofa, there were some aspects of him that were...untouchable. His nightmares were the only times he actually seemed human and it was clear that that made him very uncomfortable. She'd tried to bring it up a few times – over early morning coffee, over dinner, even just after sex – and every time he wouldn't give her an answer. He hadn't even been angry, which was what she'd expected. He'd just switched off. His eyes glazed over, his face became solemn and he changed the subject with no emotion in his voice. She was fed up of trying. It was never going to work. So Molly was sitting in her living room alone, staring unseeingly at the cardboard over the window that Jim had broken, and thinking.

On the other side of London, Sebastian Moran was lying on the grubby mattress which was the only furniture in his bedroom. He hated having the weekend off; it denied him access to Jim's flat which contained the comfiest sofa he had ever slept on. And he'd been acquainted with a wide variety of sofas. He really should get somewhere better to live..._I could probably afford it_, he mused as he looked a damp stain on the ceiling that he could have sworn was spreading before his very eyes. But he'd slept in worse conditions and he didn't really need to upgrade just yet. He spent so little time at home, it really wasn't worth the extra rent. He'd basically moved in with Jim although neither of them ever acknowledged it. He showered there, had commandeered one of the drawers to accommodate his clothes, and even had some of his post delivered to that address. The fact that he was at home now was only because he hadn't struck lucky tonight. That specific bar had been particularly unsatisfying as had the others which he had moved on to afterwards, and in all honesty his heart wasn't really in it. Not that it was normally his _heart_ which was his focus in these escapades. All night, he'd found himself checking his watch, wondering what Jim and Molly would be up to. He couldn't put his finger on why. The only person he'd found even vaguely attractive all evening was a pretty Irish girl who was working behind the bar, and she'd been a non-starter because of her heavy-set and heavily tattooed boyfriend who had been sitting in a corner silently glaring at Moran over his pint of Guinness all night. Although there was no question as to who would win in a fight, Seb wasn't in the mood. He'd finished his drink and shook his head when the girl offered him her number scrawled on a beer mat. He didn't have the energy for that kind of baggage. He procured a bottle of whiskey from an all-night off licence and returned to his dingy flat to drink himself into a stupor. Now he was just lying there...thinking. All night, he'd only had one person on his mind. _What is wrong with me?_ he wondered. He'd never been the kind of guy to get so easily attached. He wasn't big on showing, or even really _feeling_, affection for anyone but his beloved firearms. So what was different now? He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. _Sleep. Tomorrow I'll wake up and all this will have gone...it's just the alcohol._ But deep down inside, he knew there was something more than that.


	18. Chapter 18

For a while, everything was fairly uneventful. Jim spent his days making business plans, sending Sebastian on complex killing sprees and meeting with clients. So far, so normal. But almost every night, he would find himself in Molly's flat. There was still no way she was going to see his home…that was Jim's sanctuary, the only place away from this city full of disgustingly normal people. But lying on Molly's sofa with her head resting on his chest or showering in her cramped bathroom, there was something deliciously…ordinary about it. And he was beginning to enjoy that, to relish these human moments. He would never admit that to anyone, but he was. And Molly was proving to be very useful. Her particular skill was disposing of bodies, stashing them away in the St Bart's morgue with someone else's name on the paperwork. And he knew that Molly loved being part of the operation. She'd started out not wanting anything to do with his work, the whole business a little too overwhelming for her. But her curiosity was growing, and he knew he could trust her. They hadn't had any more serious incidents since the night of the broken window. He had threatened her with a bread knife to prevent her from going to Baker Street for Sherlock's birthday celebrations, but that had been a minor disagreement. Of course she had to keep up appearances at work, but that most definitely did not involve fraternising with the consulting detective and particularly John (whose name Jim refused to have spoken around him) outside the morgue. Jim didn't think of himself as the jealous type. He just didn't like other people touching his things. And Molly was the only one of his things that he really cared about.

Molly was becoming accustomed to this life as well. She'd never much of a social life to begin with, so she wasn't sacrificing that much to be with Jim. Sometimes she thought wistfully about the future she'd always imagined for herself; white wedding, three kids, a pet dog. But there was no way Jim could meet her parents, he hated children more than he hated most people and he said categorically that he would shoot anything that shed fur on his suits. So for now, she was taking it one day at a time. And what incredible days they were…well, specifically the nights. Jim would turn up at her door, always impeccably dressed and sometimes bearing a takeaway. If not, they frequented London's most expensive restaurants and wine bars, nearly always leaving without paying. He bought her new clothes, clothes worthy of the female companion of London's most dangerous man. Dream Molly was a thing of the past…she was living that dream now. Her colleagues had noticed a change in her attitude. More than one asked who this new boyfriend was who was creating such confidence in her. She just smiled knowingly. But she wanted more than that. Being Jim's – well, she didn't really know, they'd never used the word 'girlfriend' – was amazing, but she still begrudged the amount of time he spent in the company of Sebastian. There was something about the way Moran treated her; barely making eye contact with or acknowledging her presence in the back seat of the car, never speaking directly to her. She felt uncomfortable, and would have been much happier having Jim all to herself. But that wasn't going to happen. She liked that she was becoming more a part of his professional life. She loved that she could be useful. Jim had never said it, but she could tell that the part she played in clean-up operations was pretty vital. And of course, there was the plan that had originally brought her into his confidence. The thought of it made her feel queasy and she pushed it from her mind as quickly as she could whenever it popped up. That was not going to be easy. But right now she was so happy, she was willing to do anything to keep on Jim's good side. Of course he had his bad days. Sometimes he'd go on a job with Moran which he promised would only last a day or two at the most and not come back for a week or more without so much as a text to let her know. He was so changeable – he could be in a brilliant mood at dinner, chatty and cheerful, and by the time they reached her flat be seething with anger. She was slowly learning how to navigate these mood swings, and now kept any kitchen utensils which could be considered to be dangerous at the back of one high cupboard. But the danger, the potential for him to flip at any moment was something she found oddly exciting. It always surprised her how much a sharp word or a dangerous smile from Moriarty could turn her on. Sometimes she felt it went deeper than that though. Rolling over in the night and seeing him asleep next to her made her heart leap. Seeing him emerging from the bathroom wrapped in a towel gave her butterflies. Watching him make her a cup of coffee in the kitchen, something which was a very new addition to their routine as Jim found doing things for other people annoying and unnecessary, made her smile despite herself. She knew she could never tell him. It would ruin everything. He'd retreat back into his bubble of bloodshed and leave her high and dry, she knew it.

But now she'd had an idea, one that would make her indispensable. Unfortunately, she was going to need Moran's help.


	19. Chapter 19

Wow, it has been sooo long since I've updated this! I've been so busy and had so many other things on my mind that this kind of fell by the wayside. I can't promise I'll keep writing regularly as I have so much to do, but I'd like to carry on with this story!

Short chapter, not very good as I'm currently out of practise, but reviews are still welcomed and thank you to everyone who stuck around through this unexplained hiatus. It means a lot that people want to read what I have to say. Bear with me as I get back into the swing of it!

* * *

Jim had had a long day. He was in a vaguely irritable mood and the traffic around central London wasn't helping. Some bomb scare in Covent Garden, and not one caused by him for once. He'd have to find out who was responsible and sort them out. He checked his watch – thankfully, Molly was busy with some work function this evening…he hadn't really been listening when she'd explained. He could head back to the flat and drink himself into a better mood before tackling the spreadsheets he knew were waiting for him. He pulled out his phone and tapped out a quick message to Moran, asking not to be disturbed this evening. To his surprise, the sniper replied almost immediately saying that he had plans anyway and that there were leftovers in the fridge which Jim could warm up if he was hungry. Jim furrowed his brow. He didn't like everyone around him being so busy without consulting him first. Not that he really cared. At least this made his evening easier.

Sebastian was in a cab heading across town, in the opposite direction to Jim's car. He sighed and checked this phone again. He was going to be late. Bloody London traffic. He heard the beep in his hand and shot off a reply to Jim…'_Got plans anyway. Food in the fridge from last night. Have a good'un –SM'_ Then he sighed. If Jim knew what he was doing, he wouldn't be happy. So let's hope, he thought. That he doesn't find out any time too soon.

Molly was nursing a cup of coffee which was rapidly cooling between her hands. The café was going to close soon and the proprietor was giving her annoyed glances – if she wasn't there, he could probably have closed ten minutes ago. She sighed and look up at the clock above the counter. The waiting was the worst. And lying to Jim made her feel a bit sick. He hadn't seemed too interested in her 'work do' so clearly he didn't suspect anything. She checked the clock again and gazed out of the window at the rainy London street. She was nervous, and all this hanging around wasn't helping. Then she saw a car pull up and the man climbed out, turning up the collar of his jacket against the weather. She stood up quickly, tossing a note onto the table and pulling on her coat quickly. She stepped outside and he greeted her with a brief nod. "Shall we?"


	20. Chapter 20

This was going to go up mid-week to spread out the updating, but I changed my mind. Today is the birthday of one of my lovely readers, chelliebear4 (well, I assume it is, with time differences and whatnot...anyway) and so this is my version of a birthday present :) I hope you have a wonderful day, my love, and enjoy the new chapter!

Again, not a long one, but it's going some time for me to get back into the character's heads for realistic voices! R+R please :)

* * *

Molly was bored. It was a slow day in the morgue – most people would think a day containing few deaths was a good thing, but for her it meant a lot of sitting around. She had some paperwork to catch up on, she had an extra little task set her by Sherlock…but she had no motivation to do any of those things. She checked the time on her phone – a brand new one, top of the range, paid for by Jim to replace the one he'd thrown through her window, one with a new number which she had conveniently abstained to give to John for obvious reasons. Still another two hours and twenty nine minutes to go until she could leave. This day was going so slowly. It had been a while since the morgue was this dead - she gave a little chuckle at her own lame joke and wondered idly if she would be seeing Jim tonight. It had been a few days since they'd spent a night together; he was very stressed with a particular case at the moment not that he ever spoke to her about work. She could just tell and the fact that they'd barely seen each other was clue enough for her. At least if he was occupied, he was less likely to question what she was doing with her free evenings. She toyed with a paperweight on her desk, shaped like a skull - a little morbid maybe, but appropriate. Every night this week, she'd been...busy. A little smile played around her lips.

Jim was in a meeting. It was long and it was boring and repetitive – this client's negotiation techniques could use some serious work. They were just going round in circles and Jim was getting more and more frustrated, refusing to back down. The client paused for a moment to take a phone call and Jim found himself thinking about Molly. He couldn't understand how the woman could plague so much of his thoughts, but she managed it somehow. It had been a while since he'd seen her for more than a couple of hours, and even though he knew he couldn't really spare the time… No. Work came first, no matter how much he wanted to see her. He watched the man opposite him barking into his phone in Albanian and he rolled his eyes. If only he could get Moran to just dispose of this reprehensible little man and then he could focus on something more important. He tapped his fingernails impatiently on the back of his phone which was lying on the conference table.

It was so tempting to go straight to Molly's flat after this, order her into a respectable outfit and go for some dinner. Surely that would put him in a better mood. Because he'd found recently that it was one of the only things that could perk him up when he was angry or frustrated – whiskey and Molly seemed to be the only things he actually looked forward to. He shook his head. This was why he couldn't just go and see her whenever he fancied it. He was becoming dependent and he couldn't afford to do that. He couldn't rely on anyone but himself…possibly Moran, but there was always the chance that the sniper would let him down. He had to be totally self-sufficient or his whole career would be in jeopardy. He stuffed his phone into his pocket and turned his best cold glare on the client, trying to force thoughts of Molly from his mind...trying to forget the way she smiled when he complimented her and the way she purred when he kissed her neck… He gave another sigh of annoyance, this time at himself. This was getting pathetic. He ran a hand though his hair. James Moriarty didn't _need_ anyone. The people he kept around him were there because he wanted them there...and previously to this, it wasn't 'people', just Moran who was very good at his job but ultimately replaceable. He couldn't believe he'd let this woman get so far under his skin. Finally, he was so frustrated with himself that he slammed his hand down on the table and the client jumped, ending his phonecall quickly. This wasn't the result Jim had intended, but it had worked in his favour.

"Now...I suggest you forget whatever plans you came in here with. I am not a man who compromises," he said ominously. Part of him hoped this man would continue to defy cooperation; it would be so lovely to have someone to take this annoyance out on.


End file.
